Kerja?

Aku dapat interview kat satu stesen tv.

By 8.30am aku dah keluar rumah sebab interview aku kat sana dalam pukul 10am. Lagipun, aku hantar member aku pi opis dia (kira opis lama aku juga) kat Bangsar. So, dari sana, aku terus pusing ke Jalan Maarof and masuk ke Sprint Highway, bayar singgit kat tol plaza dan terus menuju ke TTDI.

Elok juga aku keluar awal, sebab kat TTDI jem nak masuk ke LDP. And at the same time, aku boleh take my own sweet time untuk cari parking free tepi jalan. Aku tak nak masuk parking kat stesen tv yang dah sememangnya padat itu. So, aku parking je tepi jalan dengan doa dan harapan yang tak ada polis mabuk nak cari duit lebih dan letak surat cinta kat windscreen keta aku tu.

Pukul 9.40am aku dah tersengih-sengih kat pak guard nak minta pas masuk ke bangunan. Dapat pas, aku terus berlenggang masuk ke North building. Masuk jer, aku nampaklah celebrities tv. Ntahlah, aku agak depa tu celebrities. Tapi, bak kata member baik aku, artis yang aku kenal, cuma Michael Jackson.Maka, aku assume lah orang yang cantik-cantik aku jumpa masa berjalan dalam bangunan itu, adalah artis-artis juga.

Dengan confidentnya (aku memang selalu nampak konfiden tapi selalu gak kelam kabut) aku terus naik lif dan tekan tingkat dua. Unik gak lif kat TV3 ni, pintu dia ada dua. Depan and belakang. Macam dalam hospital pulak aku rasa. Turun kat tingkat dua, aku capai aje lah pintu yang aku jumpa. Nasib baik betul. Masuk cari orang yang akan interview aku. Sejuknya kat dalam ni macam kat tempat opis lama aku gak. Sejuk sampai ke tulang. Macam bilik mayat. Hmm… betul ke ini bangunan tv station? Atau…

Aku di bawa ke satu bilik kaca. Kat situ, si interviewer terus menginterview si interviewee (yiehah! Aku le tu). Tak ada apa-apa pun, cuma borak-borak. Tanya aku kenapa aku berenti kerja dulu. Aku cakaplah aku dah penat. Dia kata dia boleh tengok dari riak wajah aku yang aku ni dah penat sesangat. Ye ke? Nampak gaya dapat gaji ni (tu la aku kata, aku ni terover konfiden!) aku kena pi facial. Dia ketawa je. Dia tak tahu, aku serius ni! Aku memang kena pi facial. Muka aku dah dah ada dua tone warna yang ketara. Separuh gelap separuh lagi bertambah gelap!

Lepas tu dia keluar dan datang balik dengan kertas yang berkati-kati banyaknya. Dia kata aku kena buat test, dan aku tak leh guna dictionary. Pulak dah! Dia nak tengok proficiency aku. La! Terror sangat ke aku ni? Ada tiga “kertas soalan” dia bagi. Satu episode cerita lawak, satu documentary dan satu cerita mengarut. Memandangkan depa tak ada pc yang boleh spare untuk aku, aku kena tulis tangan. Punyalah lama aku tak tulis tangan, sekarang aku kena tulis pulak dah.

Tulisan aku bukanlah elok sangat. By second page, dah jadi cakar ayam. Tangan kidal aku pun dah lenguh tulis berhelai-helai atas kertas kajang. Kajang pak malau kajang berlipat… kajang hamba dah berkeronyok sana sini. Dekat tiga jam aku nak selesaikan semua test aku tu. Dari pukul 10.30am sampai dekat pukul 1pm. Dari tak lapar, sampai laparlah dibuatnya.

Aku harap-harap sangat dapat kerja ni. Kalau dapat, hush! Nama aku akan terpampang di dada-dada televisyen. Aku akan jadi terkenal gaklah. Kembang kempis hidung aku bila berangan aku nampak nama aku. Aku akan jadi translator. Aku akan jadi penulis sari kata hahahaha! Syoknya!

Where to Mr. President?

Since I left school days, I’ve been a sports brand promoter, a clerk at a law journal company, another clerical position at an engineering firm before I landed a job which encompassed every jobs I did and more except the brand promoter, of course.

Never in my life that I thought I would land another job which required me to be road savvy, on the move and know where the best Middle Eastern food haven. I am going to be a driver and a guide. One of the small ambassadors of Malaysia zooming in many streets of Kuala Lumpur but, without the red and white car adorned with red hibiscus abstractly painted on the sides. I'm just driving my own grey Proton Wira Aeroback. I am a driver and driving not just for any ordinary people. I am driving for a special person, A man with great influence. I am driving for a president!

Yep! I am now officially hired as a driver cum guide for a president from a country far far away - A country on the other side of the globe, from one of the continents in the world. From US of A. Yes! He is a president, though he’s not the president of a country, a president nonetheless. He is a president of a multi-national furniture trade company, which is based in Houston. And he is an Iranian.

The job was from a friend in Houston - a very good friend. From an ex-housemate, before she got married and moved to US with his husband. Who, already got her green card and now heavily pregnant with first baby who is going to be an American as well since he (yes! It’s a boy!) will be born there. Who will get a cute foot prints, on his birth certificate. All you Americans! Lalalala

Anyway, this friend called and asked if I could help her president who need to come to KL for the MIFF exhibition. This was going to be his maiden visit to KL and need somebody to show him around. The only person she could think of was, me. Of course I would get my share of sparkling blue or purple Agongs for my trouble. Now, How could I reject this favour?

Definitely, I have to be prepared and first impression is very important, right? My first duty was to fetch him from the airport. So, with a placard with his name on it, I marched to the departure hall and wait among the hotel, car rentals, “ulat teksi” and even MIFF representatives. I waved my hand-written placard enthusiastly every time hordes of tourists passed the glass door. I wouldn’t want to be outdone by those aneroxic girls in short-skirts of course!

I switched hands when tired. Its been an hour and still I didn’t see Mr. President (oh I don’t really know how he looked like. I was told he was in his fifties). At this time, I was wondering whether Mr. President got lost while finding his way out.

Suddenly, an Arab man tapped me on the shoulder. He smiled widely. Telling me he was the person I was looking for. He was the Mr. President. I looked skeptically at the man. He was not even fifty. I mentioned his name again. “Yes!” he said. “I am he!”

He ushered me (yep! It’s the other way around for us) to his friend who was waiting with a trolley laden with big bags. This person looked like he was in his fifties. Now, my friend didn’t mentioned two guys. She said it was only one man. The Mr. President. I started to wonder why my friend failed to mention a “companion” to Mr. President.

I told the Arabs to wait at the gate and I will bring my car there. While driving to the arrival area outside the main building, I received a call from Mr. President asking me where I am. I told him I’m already on my way to the arrival area. I parked my car illegally and waved at the two Arabs whom I thought would be my guests for the next five days.

While the two Arabs were busy putting their big bags into my car, I received another call from my handphone and this time it was from a Malay chap telling me that my guest is still waiting at the arrival hall. I was confused. I told him my guests are with me. Then I spoke to the original Mr. President. La! There was a mixed-up! These two Arabs thought I was the person who supposed to pick them up at the airport.

Bodoh betul! I asked their names again. They nodded. I asked their surnames, they looked confused. I asked them whether they are from America. They echoed my question. La! Can’t they read the sign? It was clearly written there, “Mr. President”. At this time I really wanted to knock their heads… and mine too! So much for first impression!

They scrambled out of the car, took their bags and looked lost. Who cares! My Mr. President is already here. I waved at him. Apologised to him profusely. He said ok. Put his bag into the boot and shot off to city centre. Whatever happened to the Arab guys, I wished them luck!

After I sent my Mr. President to the hotel, checked in. Bought him his prepaid card, topped up. Bought another handphone and showed him the way to PWTC, I went back home.

On the way home I couldn’t stop thinking the fate of the two Arabs… and laughing. Bodoh betul! Mak ai! Penatnya!

Apapun, I still bersyukur coz I still have my sanity and can laugh at my own mistakes. Honest mistake la, sapa suruh mamat arab masuk keta aku!