Shit My Staff Says, Vol. 3

I was riding to work one morning and after riding in silence for some time, my driver spoke during a pause in traffic.

“Excuse me, Pak. I’m sorry for the smell.”

I looked up from my phone. I didn’t smell anything.  “What do you mean?”  I braced myself.  As noted previously, given the ease with which people talk of bowel function here, I could be in for anything.

“Well, I have a sore on my leg…”  

Hmmm.  There definitely wasn’t the smell of a festering wound.  “Oh?”

Now, doctors are in strong competition with massage therapists here. They may be losing, too.  Massage therapists are the go-too folks for all sorts of ailments.  Sports injuries, aging, moderate traumatic injury.  All can be healed with a good massage.

“My massager tells me he can’t fix the sore on my leg.” Now, both the Mrs. and I work full time which means our driver is under utilized much of the time.  Several months ago, he asked if his “Massager” could come to our house to work on his leg as this massager was one of the best, but it was too far to visit our driver at his home.  So, we allow this to happen and apparently at undetermined intervals, this massager comes over and massages my driver on the floor of our garage.

He continued.  “My cholesterol too high. So, he make a...a...a paste with ginger and something.  It make my leg hot...and keep my, uh...uh…  hoses…clean.  So, then my blood flow better. But, there is a smell.”

“Well, I don’t smell anything, but do you need to see a doctor? Do you have diabetes?  I’m happy to pay for a doctor for you.”

“No, Pak.  I fine.  Just a sore, cholesterol and clogged hoses.”

The Donut Shop

A few evenings ago, I went to a wine tasting hosted by a group called Internations.org which is an expat group with chapters around the world.  People sponsor events and often you can find something like a dinner or movie or a travelling group so that one doesn’t have to go alone to things.  There is a pretty active group here in Jakarta.  Lots of local folks join as a way of networking.  If there is a group near you, check it out.

But the wine tasting….

It was all for beginners. No one there knew much of anything about wine and we worked our way through generous pours of 3 whites and 6 reds and very little food.

The group of us were sitting finishing our wine.  Myself, 4 Spaniards, 2 Chinese, a Japanese and 4 Indonesians.

I was speaking to an Indonesian woman. She asked.  “Do you know the Donut Shop?”

The music that had just started playing.  She spoke softly as many here do. The wine made me a trifle more deaf and the woman a little more slurred.  “What?” I replied.

She leaned in and asked again.  “Have you heard of the Donut shop?”  

We had been talking of restaurants earlier in the conversation, so I thought the conversation was continuing.  But, I didn’t know the place and said so.

“Donut shop and the Muslims?”

“Oh, Donald Trump!”

“Yes, of course, Donut Shop.  Can he stop all  Muslims from going to the U.S.?”

“Well, not yet.  He’s not President, yet.”

She continued. “I mean, I’m not worried.  I’m Protestant, but still I from Indonesia.  How will he know?”

Others joined in the conversation, firing question after question, mostly in an accusing fashion. “Do you support Donald Trump?  Do you actually know anyone else who believes as he does?  When is the election?”

“Next November.”

They all almost yelled in unison. “November? We’ve got another year of this?”  And then, “none of your choices of candidates are very good.”

I’ve mentioned this a bit before, but it’s at this point in conversations like this that you can see such apprehension on the faces.  America is the world leader. America the beautiful.  Truth, justice and the American way!  Land of the free. Home of Brave. Land of opportunity.

How does that reconcile with one man’s isolationist speech and media images of thousands of placards and postings supporting him? Civilians carrying arms in the streets. In foreign eyes, what does it mean for them when such paralytic divisiveness reaches the promised land?  What hope is there in the world?

I try and defend us.  I do.  “No, of course, we don’t all think that way!”  “Americans have lots of different opinions and we’re free to express them all, for better or for worse.” and “Guns are super fun to shoot!”

Over time, though I wonder about the chronic presentation to the world of such views and images. How will we be approached for help or to help?  Will anyone turn to America to go in on a business deal?

Regarding the recent Donald Trump statements, Spawn of S.A.M. #2 was asked earnestly by her Japanese friend at school the other day.

“Did you use to believe that before you got out of the country?”  This was from a young person.  Already our image may be changing. We may be turning away the world just when we need each other the most.

What Not to Wear

Mrs. Secret Asian Man said the other day “I hope you don’t mind.  I accepted an invitation to go hear Chinese classical music. ‘The Sound of Silk and Bamboo’”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I thought it sounded cool. We never go to these things and no one else wanted to go.”

“You wanna know why no one wanted to go?  Because it sounds like a nap. Have you heard Chinese classical music? It is sonorous”

So, three days later we head out from work a over to the event. She pulled out the official invitation from her purse.  The event was being put on by the Chinese Embassy and the home of a former president of Indonesia.  The dress code was “Lounge Suit”

“What’s lounge suit mean?  Is that more casual or more business casual?”  

“I don’t know”, said Mrs. S.A.M.

We rolled up to a very posh home and passed a woman in a long embroidered silk dress that looked very un-loungy.  

I’d left my jacket at the office.  I was, though, coincidentally wearing a tie I picked up in Hong Kong’s Stanley Market.  It was a more expensive one, too.  I distinctly remember picking it up off the 3 for 10 dollar rack instead of the 4 for 10 dollar rack. I hoped it made me look un-loungy.

We walked in and signed the guest book.  The lady there remarked, “Oh, you’re from the U.S. Embassy?  Will the ambassador be joining us?”

“Oh, no.  He couldn’t make it.  He sent us instead.”  That last bit was mostly in jest. I’m quite certain he had no idea who was coming.

We were early.  We mingled. We met a nice chap from a european embassy.  We met the father of a parliament minister. We met the head of the chamber of commerce. I was becoming only vaguely aware that this was a high falootin affair. All wore jackets or formal batik shirts.

The Chinese Cultural Affairs Officer walked up with a man in dark suit. It was the Chinese Ambassador to Indonesia.  

“Mr. Ambassador, this is Mr. And Mrs. Secret Asian Man from the U.S. Embassy.”

The ambassador looked at my Stanley Market tie with a hint of recognition, then held out his hand and looked me dead in eye and said, “There is some Chinese blood in you.”  

I could feel my throat closing.  He said it in the same tone the Darth Vader says, “Hmmm. The force is strong in this one.” 

And that was it.  My cover was blown. He said nothing else.  Merely moved to his seat and the program began with a warm and gloriously introduction of distinguished guests including from The United States Embassy.  

And it was at this point that I realized how many photographers there were, for they all pointed at us and would continue to do so for the remainder of the evening dousing any chance for a classically induced slumber.  If you google, “#HeDidn’tWearTheCheapestTie” I’m sure you’ll find us.

Clearly you can take the boy of the country, but not the country out of the boy.  I’m sure there were numerous other breaches of protocol and I’m looking for a crash course on finishing school and what not to wear or to wear.

Fish Kill

I was exchanging money the other day at the Embassy.  I waited in line behind one person who was chatting to the cashier.  When it was my turn the cashier started chatting to me as well.

“Doc, that guy who was just here he got so sick from eating the fish.  You know the fish?  He ate them!”

A side note here... the number of people here who talk openly of their diarrhea is astounding.  I can number on 1 or 2 handfuls a day, the number of acquaintances and total strangers who reveal their bowel issues.  Co-workers over lunch.  Money changers.  Cab drivers.  Waitstaff.  WAITSTAFF!?

And it’s not just the Indonesians. We all do it.  

“How was your night, Vickie?”

“Well, I was up a lot.  I was a little loose.  Actually, I was a lotta loose.”

“Eh….a… I watched “House of Cards”.

But anyway, a week and a half ago there was a fish kill. Millions of fish washed up onto the shores of North Jakarta. This happens around the world from time to time.  I’m not sure that they found the exact reason for this fish kill, but there was an announcement by the government in the media that the fish was not harmful to eat.  

“My husband and my son were both sick. All the guys on the 12th floor are sick.  I think all because they ate the fish.  Why does the government say things like that?”

I told her they seldom can tell what causes things like this to happen. Often it’s because of fertilizer run off causing plankton or algae to bloom and suck all the oxygen out of the water.  Sometimes it is some other toxic waste. Sometimes it’s sewage washing out to sea.

“However the fish died”, I said, “it’s never a good idea to eat something that washed up dead on the shore.”

“Aw, doc. How we gonna know?”

“Yeah.  I’ve sworn off fish for a few weeks.  Maybe you should to.”