Confidence

I received an e-mail a few days ago. It was from my superior demanding explanation as to why a new agent I trained last month performs below expectations. 

"Who said it was okay to be formal when speaking to our clients!?" The superior asked over a chat conference.

"Sabi niya po sa akin okay lang daw." The agent was referring to me. "Lahat po ng sagot ko pinapakita ko sa kanya."

I pleaded not guilty to his accusations.

"Pero yung mga pinapakita mong mga replies hindi ganyan." I tapped on my keyboard. "I would have corrected you if I found something wrong."

"Pero sir, pinapakita ko nga po sa inyo lahat..."



Confession time. I didn't pay much attention when he showed me his replies. My mind was set to doing other things (such as blogging) instead of being nosy of his work. Part of the reason for letting him "play in the sandbox" was because of some earlier instruction to "let him produce" more. Changing his style means a lot of revision and in doing so waste time.  

"Do you remember our first chat session? These were your replies."

From the piles of letters in my inbox came the e-mail about the agent's progress. I was lucky to document the training to show that something was being done. The hastily written email was my only defense to cover up for my negligence and while tables were turned against me, it was the only assurance that I won't be pinned under the table's weight.

"Look, I was already confident of your replies. I didn't expect you to perform poorly like this because I thought you already know."

Assumptions make heads roll.  

It was my superior who cut the dispute dismissing it as rather circuitous. He asked the agent to return to work while confronting me with a single question that lead me to admit the truth.

"One question, did you tell him to be casual when speaking to clients or not?"

"Say it Baabaa," my partner whose arms tightly hugged my waist urged me to say what really took place. He was in my room while the conference was ongoing.

"No."

"And I take responsibility for my actions."

"End of discussion."  She said.



The superior saw the depth of my failure.  The chat transcript of our training revealed that I too, failed to spot the error in my subordinate's replies. My mind wanted to ask why she didn't see it when I showed her the transcript. But the answer came as swift as I had conceived the question.

The superior spoke her mind like a true mentor.

"I was confident that you know what you're doing. That's why I didn't bother checking it." Suddenly, the imaginary gun pointed at my head fired.

"I was wrong."

Our conversation ended after thanking my superior (for knocking my head) and assuring her that the mistake won't happen again. Emerging illumined from the showdown, I sent a message to the agent admitting my fault. During the course of our chat, he confessed that he was shaking the whole time we were grilled. Consoling him, I tried to make light of our situation by telling him that everything will be okay.

"Relax ka lang... kasama mo ako."

But enough is enough. Behind the false hopes of a reprieve, the agent's fate was already written. Only last week, he made the gravest error of not coming to the office when help was desperately needed.  Though he was working elsewhere, his long wait times when the queue was up irked the officer-in-charge.

Too bad, it was the superior.

As soon as his replacement was handpicked, the agent's days were already numbered. Retraining the newcomer commenced the next day - still by me - but holding on to my promise,  I sent a more detailed report of the subjects we covered.

The successor is seen as hard-headed, but his experience makes him better suited for the job. The director  may have his doubts, but with the superior enjoying his trust,  it was easy to convince him that the replacement would do just fine.



All it took was a ten-second phone call to cut the connection:

"Pahinga ka muna, there are changes happening at the office..." It was the superior who delivered the message. Blood bonds require a more delicate approach.

Much as it pains me to admit that I have added immensely to the agent's demise, there is nothing to do but accept the consequence. Pleading would never get us anywhere, since I was the first to bring up the  observation that the agent was misbehaving. And while I tried my best to warn him that he is close to the firing line, he tempted fate by showing how flawed his grammar was.

The coming days will be full of doubts as I try my best to do a my own soul-searching. Meanwhile, steps will be taken so no head other than mine will roll the next time I get into trouble. The unfinished business, I had with the agent may linger for sometime.

But a promise is a promise.

"Relax ka lang... kasama mo ako..."

I'm determined to keep my word once the opportunity presents itself.

Mary Jane

The stay-at-home yaya left for the province early last week. Her absence would make life difficult for the family. With most of our daily needs - laundry management, house cleaning, cooking meals relied on her, our easy life surely would come to an end.

All that is left was the lesbian driver whose violent fights with the maid, made her the antagonist. Relationships were still tense even though it already thawed when she fixed the main power switch one time it sparked. To be sure that  someone would run the house without the maid around, my mom asked an ex-yaya (who lives with her husband and four kids in our old house) for help.  She would check us from time to time, between her duties as a housewife.

We also enlisted the help of a guy, whose increasing presence has already made him a de-facto assistant in the house. He used to be my mom's student when he was in college. He was also my tutor until I learned to study during exams on my own.



The first days went by without a hitch. There were seven of us in the house and mouths were fed on  time and with sumptious meals. It was the lesbian driver who cooked the food. After several days, the big chunks of meat, which were hard to chew now melts in your mouth. The much fatter Lumpiang Shanghai even tastes better.

The living room, once the pinnacle of sloppiness is now squeaky clean. The cracked floor was always polished and the trash taken out once the bins are full. Even the dog who loves tearing strangers' skin only went out to poop. Everything was running well and we didn't even have to ask the ex-yaya to come and  intervene.

These welcome changes didn't escape the watchful eyes of the lords of the house. Twice, I told my mom how I felt ashamed leaving the dirty dishes on the table. Turns out, it was the same sentiment of my sister and her husband. After eating their meals, they now leave the sala clean.

For the first time in many months, I was forced to clean my plate after I have eaten. My obsession with order had reached heights never before seen,  I even tried washing the greasy pan when the lesbian driver fried something.

This new-found respect for someone I had previously thought to be on the verge of leaving opened my eyes to the people who should be given a chance. I cannot deny that the lesbian's violent tendencies swept all my sympathies. And her binge drinking, though seldom, made me doubt the company she keeps. 

But in the days we needed her most - and her male sidekick - the lesbian driver never failed to deliver. Not only did she run the house like a Swiss-made wristwatch, we too learned to give up something for the house to remain at peace.

Following the recent near-miss of typhoon Chedeng, I thought the maid would ask for extra days for her to come home. Her absence didn't matter really, we're doing well without her around. And just when the lesbian driver appreciation days resume, I woke up to another voice this morning after asking what's in for lunch.

"Menudo..." It was the maid who answered. She got bored in the province and decided to go home earlier than what she promised.

And with her return, everything will be back to normal. But each time I see the driver quietly passes on her way to her quarters, I will always remember how her fine work brought us closer to learning that we could actually stand up for ourselves.