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jawnbcToday was mostly tedious. Not taxing, barring the odd frayed nerve, but very, very tedious.
it was set up day for the trade show. Our booth is "classic look", meaning I got what I could bring in my checked baggage. Some flyers, a few posters, lots of calling cards. And me: I'm Jawn, fly me! So I didn't leap out of bed at 07h00 for an early start. Rather I staggered out of bed at 08h00, took a bath (lovely) and was at brekkie for 09h00. And on-site for 10h00.
Shuttle driver drops me in front of meeting/convention centre, and I go in. "Oh no sir" says the esteemable chairperson "trade show is this way." Out the front door, down the footpath, through some green space, and into a fair grounds. Yup, the trade show is out-of-doors. Not "under a big tent" or "several smaller tents": outside. A chosen few got genuine cement gazebo-like shelters; the rest of us were given framed out (bamboo no less) compartments in blocks of units.
Though apparently this makes some sort of culture sense, because all my neighbours had come prepared to build in their own booths. They had walls (I got nothin'). They had floors (I got mud). They had tables and chairs and counters and ... and ... and bevvies of wiry brown men running about putting said booths together while they chattered in Marathi (turns out they were all from Nagpur or Mumbai). I couldn't have thrown a meaningful Mrs. Egan™ moment if I'd wanted: what's the glory in tossin' a hissy when you hissification is missed? So chilled.
2 hours of chilling was chilly enough. Esteemable chairperson meandres by: I lovingly and nurturingly express my dismay and concern. "No problem, very sorry Dr.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jawnbc," and some wiry brown men begin doing things in my faux booth. I turn around, and they disappear (des lutains peut-être?). I wait another hour, esteemable chairperson comes by, sees nothing has continued to happen, begins flapping arms and raising his voice. Within 20 minutes I have 3 completed (if irregular) walls. Et les maudits lutains sont disparus encore. Fuuuck!
By now the neighbours, after pumping me for information on post-graduate study in Canada, Australia and the US, stage an intervention. They berate the lead wiry brown fellow, who finally plays his card "this is the standard booth; booths with proper floors cost a lot more money."
"How much?" I ask through the neighbour.
"1000 rupees for the floor, another 500 for the carpet" is the wiry, translated response.
"That's fine. Done."
*Marathis chins simultaneously hit uncarpeted, uncovered dirt*
Yes folks, for the grand sum of AU$50 we got a good and proper floor. Mr. neighbour was outraged at the price and tried to bring the cost down, but I waived him off. I mean, what's the point of being colonial pimp for a prestigious international university if you can't look all capitalistic from time to time? OK, really I was tired and I was expecting this. It was now 15h00 and I'd not had any lunch. By 16h00 all was done except the electricity (I've a downloaded version of our marketing website on my PowerBook: you wanna click my pad?).
I jumped in a tuk-tuk (49cc of raw power carrying 2 adults and a richshawesque body) to my hotel. Just in time for Diarrhea of Bombay Bum*, complete with anal leaking™. Do you know the tune? It was remaded as Rivers of Babylon by Boney M:
Diarrhea of BomBay Bum
It trickles down
yeah-eah it runs
Although you try to clamp down.
{clench your buttocks}
it was set up day for the trade show. Our booth is "classic look", meaning I got what I could bring in my checked baggage. Some flyers, a few posters, lots of calling cards. And me: I'm Jawn, fly me! So I didn't leap out of bed at 07h00 for an early start. Rather I staggered out of bed at 08h00, took a bath (lovely) and was at brekkie for 09h00. And on-site for 10h00.
Shuttle driver drops me in front of meeting/convention centre, and I go in. "Oh no sir" says the esteemable chairperson "trade show is this way." Out the front door, down the footpath, through some green space, and into a fair grounds. Yup, the trade show is out-of-doors. Not "under a big tent" or "several smaller tents": outside. A chosen few got genuine cement gazebo-like shelters; the rest of us were given framed out (bamboo no less) compartments in blocks of units.
Though apparently this makes some sort of culture sense, because all my neighbours had come prepared to build in their own booths. They had walls (I got nothin'). They had floors (I got mud). They had tables and chairs and counters and ... and ... and bevvies of wiry brown men running about putting said booths together while they chattered in Marathi (turns out they were all from Nagpur or Mumbai). I couldn't have thrown a meaningful Mrs. Egan™ moment if I'd wanted: what's the glory in tossin' a hissy when you hissification is missed? So chilled.
2 hours of chilling was chilly enough. Esteemable chairperson meandres by: I lovingly and nurturingly express my dismay and concern. "No problem, very sorry Dr.
jawnbc," and some wiry brown men begin doing things in my faux booth. I turn around, and they disappear (des lutains peut-être?). I wait another hour, esteemable chairperson comes by, sees nothing has continued to happen, begins flapping arms and raising his voice. Within 20 minutes I have 3 completed (if irregular) walls. Et les maudits lutains sont disparus encore. Fuuuck!By now the neighbours, after pumping me for information on post-graduate study in Canada, Australia and the US, stage an intervention. They berate the lead wiry brown fellow, who finally plays his card "this is the standard booth; booths with proper floors cost a lot more money."
"How much?" I ask through the neighbour.
"1000 rupees for the floor, another 500 for the carpet" is the wiry, translated response.
"That's fine. Done."
*Marathis chins simultaneously hit uncarpeted, uncovered dirt*
Yes folks, for the grand sum of AU$50 we got a good and proper floor. Mr. neighbour was outraged at the price and tried to bring the cost down, but I waived him off. I mean, what's the point of being colonial pimp for a prestigious international university if you can't look all capitalistic from time to time? OK, really I was tired and I was expecting this. It was now 15h00 and I'd not had any lunch. By 16h00 all was done except the electricity (I've a downloaded version of our marketing website on my PowerBook: you wanna click my pad?).
I jumped in a tuk-tuk (49cc of raw power carrying 2 adults and a richshawesque body) to my hotel. Just in time for Diarrhea of Bombay Bum*, complete with anal leaking™. Do you know the tune? It was remaded as Rivers of Babylon by Boney M:
Diarrhea of BomBay Bum
It trickles down
yeah-eah it runs
Although you try to clamp down.
{clench your buttocks}
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Hmmm...
Date: 2005-02-02 05:50 pm (UTC)I giggled.
I did math in my head.
And now?
Now I have to go to the bathroom.
I hope you're *happy*!
;o)
no subject
Date: 2005-02-02 06:35 pm (UTC)*grin*
no subject
Date: 2005-02-02 08:31 pm (UTC)But I prefer the remake. Laugh until you cry and remember that as bad as Bombay Bum is, something happened to me Monday night that was WORSE. But I will not tell you about it. Because even *I* have some shame and some pride.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-02 10:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-02 11:01 pm (UTC)I read that one should not fart in India unless sitting on a toilet.
What's that awful Boney M song that sounds a bit like Ring around a Rosey? I just read about this poor Englishman who fell off an escarpment climbing in the Himalayas, landed on a ledge with a broken leg and during the three days he had to lay there in freezing temperatures while his partner went for help he had that song stuck in his head. This, he said, was the worst part of the ordeal.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-03 01:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-03 02:58 am (UTC)