The (Current) Object of My Affection - Part 1
The first time I met Andrew was in a conference room on the 11th floor, cramped with around forty people from the Marketing and Creative Department. He was the odd guy standing out, the mysterious stranger in a bunch of boring, tired, familiar faces. He was unmistakably Asian, more Chinese than anything with his almond eyes. (Later on, we find out he’s from Malaysia.) His hair (how did he do it?) a mix of modern and the traditional, owing to the clean cut and the right amount of hair product to jzush it up. A crisp shirt and a handsome tie matched his creaseless black pants. I guessed that if I sat nearer him and sniffed his neck, he would have had on a fresh modern, aquatic scent to complete the sterile look. The only thing that broke the yuppie get-up was his tastefully chosen specs resting on the bridging of his nose. The thin plastic frame was black, accented by white and maroon geometric shapes and lines.He was sitting in front while Bob, the archetypal Oxford? Cambridge? Brit pulled in to organize the SEA Cluster, was presenting the new Marketing and Creative organization. All the slides bore familiar names, and the sad part was some of the names who worked for the longest time for the company were missing. Then there we go, a new name flashes on screen, right in the box saying Cluster Creative Head, Andrew V--. Bob goes on a bit about Andrew’s background; the new guy says something to everyone… something very forgettable I’m sure. His English is thick and heavy with Malay accent, but his words were as tidy and well-chosen as his wardrobe.
I began to scrutinize him from afar while the presentation was going on. In hindsight, everybody probably did. I was looking for clues – man clues. Wrinkles? Tiny lines, near the eyes. A small pouch of tummy flesh was pressing against his shirt. He’s probably 35, at the least. Wedding ring? None on all fingers. Wedding band, or the white line left by ringwearers? Nothing. Single then, or denies the fact that he’s married. I noticed his hands were fair and bright against the florescent lighting. Aha, Richie Rich boy.
Nails? Oh dear, his were neater than mine, like he had just come from a salon. I checked my own fingernails and made a mental note, “Must cut to human size.”
I noticed my Gaydar is suddenly on. It usually would when it sensed something, or someone, queer. But the signal was faint that I hardly notice; everyone’s going out for lunch and the meeting is over. From that first meeting my impression was, he looked too stiff to be anywhere near the Creative team.
In the same week I met Andrew again when he was introduced to all of the Marketing people, but one by one this time. It was normal procedure by HR, and I detested that practice (I felt the new person was doing a dirty politician’s job). Anyway, it was my turn when the Tina the Beauty Plus Manager and the Ina the GM, introduced me to him as the spanking new Campaign Planning Country Head for Thailand (the title is all the glam there is, the rest, just …). I was really busy tightening stuff for the visit to Bangkok the following week, and I was only halfway through the deliverables. I so did not want to get up from my desk and make senseless chitchat with a talking wooden pole. But I was up and polite when Ina stepped into my cubicle (who could resist the GM?), and I offered my hand to the new guy. He pronounced my name the way my folks at home do (the “e” originally was a short vowel). He looked at Ina and asked if I would be in the same trip as his and Noel’s the following week to Thailand.
“Yes, I would be,” I said, but he didn’t pick that up and kept looking at Ina for an answer. Deaf? He’s probably 38 then. Or a real asshole.
After that I would see him in the office hallway or in The Old Spaghetti House at lunch. Because I was one to scoot away from Type A people, I kept away from him as much as I could.
There was another scenario in those few days which sealed his asshole impression on me. I was outside the building, trying to hail a cab when Andrew walked past with Letty the secretary, doing the same thing. I walked up to them to say Hi; Letty was courteous and sweet as ever, but the Malaysian was looking somewhere else, ignoring me. Lintik, such a jerk.
Things spun around when we (my boss, I, and Andrew) were all working in Bangkok. In our first work meeting, while I was acting proper and credible (“square” really, my intentions were to build credibility), Andrew was throwing off jokes, and the most improper ones at that.
To be continued.
posted by Elyss @ 1:24 PM
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