Of The Thoughts Circling In My Cup of Nescafe

Every now and then I choose to be by myself having my Nescafe at my favourite joint at the ground floor of the building that holds my office. My timing is almost exact everyday as 10:30 am is the time of my choice. Most of the times I get to sit at my favourite table over at the corner of the restaurant with big round pillar at my back, serves very well as an added strength to back me up, subconsciously. Nice open view overlooking the slope with big condominium blocks on my right across the street, up on the steep incline.

“Biasa Bang?!” A young lady would say and I’d quip with short reply, “Yeah!” or sometimes my nod with little smirk is more than sufficient. That’s the familiar short exchange we’d have when she pre-confirms my drink. Occasionally, I’d be ahead of her, “Biasa!” and she’d smile in return. I can take for granted; the steamy Nescafe will be there for me, in minutes. She wouldn’t ask for any orders for food because she knows, more often than not I was there just for drinks – I’d ask when I need it. But sometimes she would. At one time, with her big smile, she swiftly dashed to my table asking – just to create a cyclone of air when she wants me to smell her new “Sweetheart” perfume she’s using and fishing for compliments from me. Rest assured I am always generous with my words.

Oh by the way, she’s a big fan of Mawi!

It is not just about the young lady at the restaurant but also a woman whose working on the flower plants that covered from below the 4-foot high walkway of the building until some 10 feet to the pavement close to the car park. Over the years, I have been watching her taking care of the plants – fertilizing, watering, cutting, trimming and pruning. Every time I am drowning my distress in my Nescafe, she’d be down there nursing the plants. What attracts me is when I see her works with full of passion and dedication – makes the impression of special bonding exists between her and the plants.

I love seeing people doing their best at what they are doing regardless of what they are. I am annoyed to see someone who demonstrates less interest in what they are doing. Have it ever occurred to you when you’re almost at the brink of your outburst with a waitress at a restaurant showing no interest in her work as if you are there to trouble her as a customer? Any experience with a nurse at the counter with thick and heavy glasses gives an outlandish gape at you when asking for information? Ever came across a security guard behaving like he’s the owner of the building? But I know a lady executive friend who admires a hunky Bangladeshi security guard because of his spitting image of Hrithik Roshan. Heh, that’s beside the point!

Back to this flower-woman, I don’t know how old is she but I have a hunch she looks older than her age. I know she’s from Indonesia when it vibrates well in her speech. Deeper in my thought, I surmised her having a family back in her home country with perhaps children to feed upon. Probably, she’s here with the husband in their efforts to make ends meet, leaving the children behind or she could well be all alone here. I have an easy way to know by asking her but it won’t be fun. After all it doesn’t help me much to record the unnecessary data in my head. The very thing that triggers me is, when the thought of her with her life, having to succumb to the living very likely not to her choice but circumstantially she has to face it. Above all, when she is at it, she is at her best. I do not have any specific benchmark to compare her commitments and dedications in work with mine and but I ask myself; whatever things in my hands now, am I to the standard of what she is demonstrating?

Reminds me of Idris, the guy we hired for decorative concrete work in our lawn. According to the neighbours, the charge was a bit too high but my wife and I agreed it was worth the money spent considering the quality of works delivered. I was even prepared to pay higher than the amount he put the price on.

Some years ago in the company I was at, for the company annual dinner, we in the management purposely wanted to have the lower ranking staff to handle the function. Ridzwan was a store hand in the company. Without much details in instructions, he distinguished himself out, outshined, ahead of other peers, even voluntarily took up the stage as a Master of Ceremony for the function. And he played his guitar and sang to the tune of “Isabella” too. Regardless of whether he was singing or not, he did bloody well with all his wits and charms handling the whole function. Successfully!

I took mental notes on every single thing right from the beginning. A few days after the function, I summoned him to my office. Guess what? I pushed him into training department as a trainee junior executive. He was in tears, happy when someone could see what’s hidden in him. On his way out of my office, I could see the gesture of him wanted to give me a hug – lest not proper, he shook my hand – almost crushed my bones. Regardless of what paper qualification he was having or he was not having, I knew that he could handle the job. After yet a few more rounds of tears battling the unknown new world to him, in 6 good months of probations, he managed to position himself as a full-fledged junior executive.

My Nescafe won’t take the whole day to finish. My Nescafe couldn’t wait for my thoughts to last either.

Time to go!