Brenda, the auntie.
Talk about the attack of those calls of ‘auntie’ haunting me at my new job. It is a case of deja vu all over again.
Just to recap. Yours truly has undertaken a new job at a company that goes around holding book fairs at various schools (usually primary schools) around Singapore.
Hence, the job mainly revolves around loading, unloading, rearranging, promoting and selling books (yes, five in one.), and making sure that the children don’t run off with the goods.
It’s a part time job. However, it feels like a full time job considering the amount of energy those young children have. They squeal, yell the life out of you, and make a complete mess of the tableful of books that my co-worker and I had oh-so painstakenly arranged earlier in the day.
However, when the supervisor asked me about how I found this job so far, I completely meant it when I said “Yes.”
No fake smile or whatsoever. The complete antithesis of last year’s job at Swensen’s when I had to plaster on the fakest smile ever possible and act all chummy with the higher beings when they posed the same question - when the only thought on my mind was that that job was a complete waste of my time.
The only thing that gets on my nerves is - well, you’ve guessed it. Young children referring to yours truly as ‘auntie’ when I’ve barely hit twenty.
Last week, I whined about it.
Today, I decided to do something about it.
“Auntie, how much is this?” is the standard question posed by almost 100% of those kids that approached me.
“That book is so-and-so-amount,” I would respond. “… and I AM NOT ‘AUNTIE’!”
Out of thirty-two times I was posed that question, I gave that same response eighteen times.
What happened to the other fourteen? You may ask.
I completely lost the energy. It seemed as though I was fighting a losing battle. Furthermore, the number of calls of ‘auntie’ I’ve received has far surpassed the amount I’ve received last week. Have I really aged that much within a short span of seven days?
During a rather slow period, I turned to my supervisor.
“You know what? The next kid that comes up to me and calls me ‘auntie’, I swear I am going to…”
“AUNTIE!”
A little girl decided to sneak up on me right at that moment.
It took every ounce of my energy not to wring the little neck of that innocent kid who has unknowingly offended yours truly by implying that I am old. Those kids didn’t mean it, that I know for sure. It is just a natural tendency that they have.
However, it just rubs me the wrong way.
Unfortunately, it seems like something I’ve got to live with.
And oh, how can I even FORGET to mention a particular scenario this afternoon? Apparently, quite a handful of children at the primary school I’ve worked at today cannot count to save their lives.
“The total for your two books would be seven dollars,” I smiled at a little boy, who seemed to be around nine or ten.
Said boy began to fumble around in his wallet, and finally placed a handful of coins into my outstretched palm, before picking up the book.
I looked at the coins in my hand.
Seventy cents.
“Erm, you only gave me 70 cents. You are still six-thirty ($6.30) short,” I informed the boy.
“Oh, then how ah?” The boy proceeded to give me a wide-eyed, innocent puppy-dog look.
“…….”
That’s not the only scenario. Several times, I’ve had young students trying to cheat me by placing a one-dollar coin into my hand and attempting to look nonchalant when the book they are purchasing costs several times more than that.
Like I’ve mentioned.
That job is a handful - but I still love it nonetheless.
It’s quite entertaining to be working in a Primary School, actually.
No, wait. Let me explain. I am not actually working within a Primary School as an educator, whether part-time or full-time. I’d probably mislead the young because I’ve already misplaced all the content of my entire six years of education in my Primary School several years ago.
Rather, I have a temporary job working in a book-fair that visits various Primary Schools as the days go by.
Today’s school was Fairfield Methodist Primary School.
I arrived within the school compound to find several screaming kids dashing all over the place. Several were kicking a ball around, a handful with jump-ropes, and others simply staring into space.
Once the book fair commenced, it became sheer havoc.
Children at Primary School age just do not know how to queue up. It was definitely hard to focus on trying to mentally calculate the amount of money due by a particular kid when you have several other kids around you, holding their books, waving their money in the air, and screaming “Me, Me, Me!” simultaneously.
And they are cheeky too.
A particular boy had purchased two books that were worth $15.50 in total. Smart little fellow. He placed a ten dollar note and several coins into my hand and dashed off before I could finish counting the moolah.
By the time I realized that I was short of fifty cents, that little monkey had already long disappeared.
And for heaven’s sake. STOP CALLING ME ‘AUNTIE’!
For the love of mankind. Children these days do not seem to hold the ability of judging for themselves whether a person is still a jie jie (big sister) or an AUNTIE.
Golly gee. Nineteen years young and people are already calling me AUNTIE.
What the heck?
However, I absolutely love that job on the whole and would definitely jump at the chance to do it again if I could. Ah, the memories of those carefree days in Primary School.
On another note, yours truly is finally going to cease procrastinating those allergy tests I’ve been putting off for the past couple of months, and so I’ve been booked for an appointment tomorrow at midday.
So tomorrow, Brenda would have to become a part-time pincushion.
Wowwie, I like! (Sarcasm induced.)
I am not exactly sure what to expect, though. Nothing too bad, I hope.
Attitude.
So this entry is a day late. My apologies. Apparently, I was so dog’gone tired after standing in the sun the whole day long to an extent of falling asleep almost immediately after reaching home.
The best part? I was unpaid. I didn’t manage to sell a single dog’gone Street Directory. Hence, no commission. Kaput. Zilch. Despite standing out in the sun, getting arm-aches from the heavy street directories and repeating my sales pitch until my throat went dry.
All that for nothing.
And yes, not to mention the part about being bullied by security guards too.
Regina, Sky and I attempted door-to-door promotion of them Street Directories at Car Mart, a supposedly allocated ’shopping centre’ for used cars. I covered quite a few of them car dealers, a couple of car-shoppers, only to receive 100% negative responses, despite my cheerful sales pitches and my sunny smile.
And to have one of them complain against me - for unsolicited sales in a private area.
Because the next thing I knew, one skinny security guard came swooping down towards Sky and I as we were awaiting our last partner near the lift lobby with our trolley-full of goods. Let’s just call him Mr SkinnyGuard.
“Excuse me, what are you doing here? What are you selling?” Mr SkinnyGuard demanded.
“We’re hired to promote Street Directories,” was my reply.
“I’ve received a few complaints from the tenants around here against you,” Mr SkinnyGuard informed me, “And all of you, please leave the premises now.”
Sky and I didn’t move. Of course, yours truly was resentful of being spoken to in such a manner that I began assuming a defiant look.
Please. We know that you are someone of authority, but please do not fucking throw your weight around without giving us a good reason why we should leave, especially when you don’t have much weight to begin with in the first place. (Pun intended.)
Mr SkinnyGuard then spotted Regina who was still within one of the car dealers’ shop. And from how enthusiastic she looked, it seemed as though her sales pitch was successful and she was on the verge of getting a sale.
“Is she one of you?” Mr SkinnyGuard asked.
We couldn’t lie. We nodded.
The next thing we knew, Mr SkinnyGuard was storming over to the car dealer’s shop where Regina was, with me hot on his heels.
He flung open the glass door.
“EXCUSE ME! YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE SELLING THINGS HERE!”
“Sorry sir, you are on no grounds to chase me out. This lady here is one of my clients,” Regina informed the guard calmly. (I guessed as much, she’s gotten a successful sale!)
“I don’t care if she is your client or not. That is what everyone says when I catch hold of them. That is your own problem. Please get out of here, now,” Mr SkinnyGuard ordered.
I gave him a steely gaze.
“Excuse me, sir? You could learn to be a little more polite,” I informed him sarcastically. Of course, Mr SkinnyGuard simply ignored me.
“YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO PROMOTE ANYTHING HERE,” Mr SkinnyGuard affirmed again.
“Excuse me sir? If you had come along just now and accused me of making sales, then you would be right, and I am in the wrong. But now, I am no longer trying to make sales. I am currently in the midst of closing a transaction. Therefore, you are on no legal grounds to make any claim against me,” steel-solid nerves Regina informed Mr SkinnyGuard, who was beginning to look a little squirmish by then.
“Please leave now before I call the police,” was all Mr SkinnyGuard could manage.
“You cannot intimidate me by calling the police, sir. Because I know I am not doing anything wrong. This lady here is my client, and I am simply closing a transaction with her when you barged in,” was Regina’s cool response.
At that moment in time, I was looking up towards Regina at almost a ninety-degree right-angle. Whoa, I could really learn to love this girl sometimes.
Mr SkinnyGuard, being agitated at being caught off-guard (another pun-intended), drew out his walkie-talkie to summon up an even bigger sized security guard.
It is not that we are trying to defy authority.
It is a matter of how we are being approached by the authority. If Mr SkinnyGuard have had been polite right from the start, we would have obeyed immediately. However, if he were to approach us as if we were a bunch of rats to be squashed flat and eliminated from the building, we would not hesitate to challenge his authority.
Being a security guard means that you are dealing with people. And to deal with people, you must have a suffucient amount of people-skills, also known as EQ. Being a security guard grants you a certain amount of power. But it is not within your power to grant yourself free from the need of being civil to the people you deal with.
Neither do you throw your weight around with the mentality of “Oh, I am the oh-so powerful security guard and so if I tell you to get the fuck out, you must do as such or I will oh-so sic the police on you.”
Hurhurhur.
Mr BiggerSizedGuard was in fact, much more polite and more worthy of respect than Mr SkinnyGuard, and hence we vacated the premises immediately after he spoke to us quietly about the rules of the building and why they had to act as such.
Treat us like people, and we will behave like people.
Treat us like vermins, and we will behave as such.
Neither will we have any respect for you.