The Blown Job

"I have news," read the message in our whatsapp group chat titled "Just the Boys".

"?" replied Carl, a true reflection of his personality: His denseness - and inability to string together proper sentences. 

"I am sitting alone in my car, and my heart is racing. And not in a good way either" read Stanley's cryptic message - a true reflection of his personality: His penchant for dramatic openings - and ability to string together too many improper sentences.

"BTW, what was the Malbec we drank at Bill's restaurant the other night? I like it. I wanna buy it now," I typed as I strolled along the wine aisle in Cold Storage.

"I'm retrenched," Stanley wrote.

"!" replied Carl.

Within two minutes, our respective tasks were abandoned (me, my trolley and Carl, his part-time fitness instructor's class at a polytechnic in the northern part of Singapore).

"Drive safely - see you in a while" was the last group message before the three of us made our way to a food court in Woodlands for an emergency gathering.

Twenty minutes later, I found Stanley sitting in a corner stirring his teh peng listlessly.

"Keep on stirring and you'll summon a hurricane," I said as I took a seat opposite Stanley.

"Talk about a storm in a teacup," he replied, his glare distant.

Stanley may have lost his job, but he hasn't lost his wits.

"Are those male boobs?" he asked in a monotone, poking a finger slowly at my body part.

Stanley may have lost his job, but he hasn't lost his randomness.

Just then, a panting Carl arrived at our table.

"Ah, welcome. Another set of male boobs has just joined us. And these ones are better. They can jiggle," Stanley said, his eyes still fixed on my set.

"Carl, dribble them for me leh," Stanley said mechanically. "I'm depressed. I need entertainment."

"Okay!" Carl said with glee and immediately got down to the task of consoling his sad friend with his male boobs.

Left, right, left, right.

"You have some serious talent, Carl," Stanley said.

Carl clapped with childlike glee.

"Okay, enough, enough. Tell us what happened, " I said, as I noticed a makcik from the next table staring at Carl's rhythmic boobs with keen interest.

Turned out, Stanley's company wasn't doing well financially so the first to go would naturally be the latest hires who earn higher salaries.

"This feels so surreal," Stanley said wistfully.

"Every time we sit together, I tell you stories about how I get laid. Today, it's a story about how I get laid off. This is not right," Stanley said.

Just then, a nervous-looking Carl started biting his lips.

"What exactly did you work as, Stan?" asked Carl.

Stanley and I turned towards the dense one and then continued talking to each other.

"There are so many things to think about now," Stanley said.

"The car, the job hunt, the age - who's going to hire a 30-year-old man who's so highly paid in his last job?"

Carl nodded eagerly in agreement.

"You're 38, bitch," I said.

Carl starting biting his lips again.

"I'm depressed, Adam. You cannot correct me now. I'm 30."

With Stanley, one needs to be patient - not too long ago, Stanley had come to terms with his age. But let's not further upset the "30 year old".

Over cheap kopi and teh peng that night, Stanley poured his heart out to us.

He had been saving up to buy a place of his own - and now, it looks as if he would have to tap into his savings. A pool of money that had remained untouched for years.

For a start, Stanley toyed with the idea of selling away his car in a bid to cut expenses.

But between parting ways with his ride (which we christened "sergeant 69" because of the beginnings of his car plate number SGT 69XX), he thought a wiser choice would be to continue paying for it.

The worst part, Stanley said, was the he had been on the lookout for some condo units.

He was actually ready to buy a one-bedder in a good location the moment he came across one that he liked.

But now, Stanley's plans had to take a back seat.

Later that night, I thought about how some of us have subconsciously allowed work to take over our lives.

Often, it overshadows our personalities.

At parties, one of the questions that will certainly pop up would be our jobs.

What do you do for a living? 
Oh, wow, that's interesting!
You must really enjoy your work!
How do you manage that!

And when that happens, our jobs take centrestage - conversation topics revolve around the job: The good, the bad, the industry gossip.

Nobody cares that you have a liking for gardening, or that you enjoy watching fish swim in circles as a hobby. 

Which is why Stanley makes it a point to never talk about his job - unless it's the type that'll earn him an orgasm.

"Cut to the chase and stick to four main questions in all conversations - Pic? Seek? Top / Bottom? Place?" he would say.

Sometimes, we allow our job to erode our humility.

Years ago, Stanley and I started out with miserable salaries.

We convinced each other that if we could both survive as undergrads on our meagre pay as tutors - and still afford the occasional drink at the now-defunct Niche gay club - surely we could stick to spending $900 a month and save up the rest of our full-time salaries?

How untrue.

Very soon, our lifestyle caught up with our pay.

With each increment, instead of portioning all of it aside as savings, we came up with creative ways to spend that money. That $700 leather bag. Or the $2,000 watch. Anything. Everything.

Worse, we even became a little snobbish.

No food court please. That place smells like an oil factory. 
I can't be seen wearing G-Shock in my office wear! I need a real watch!
Life is too short to drink cheap wine - let's order based on price tags!

And the more we allow ourselves to enjoy the benefits of having a job, the more brazen the job becomes. It becomes the be all and end all in our lives.

And when one day, we lose our jobs, we're way too high up in the social strata that we become devastated.

It becomes more than a loss of our rice bowl.

The social status gets wiped out overnight. 

And we've plunged right back to the bottom.

Compare that to someone who has all along treated a job just as it is: An avenue to contribute to society and earn money - and in some cases, gratification - and when it's the end of a work day, walk away from it and focus on yourself.

On your family. On loved ones. On a hobby. On Grindr.

Would that job loss still be so tough to bear?

At around 1.15am that night, Stanley stirred the group chat to life.

Stan
"I've been thinking."
(1.17am)

Carl
?
(1.17am)

Stan
Very, very hard
(1.17am)

Me
Stan:
Very, very hard
Oooo... Stanley Ong is back in action!  
(1.18am)

Carl
Adam:
Ooo... Stanley Ong is back in action! 
You found a job, Stan?!
(1.25am)

Stan
@Carl, you also need to start thinking, full stop.
(1.25am)

Carl
?
(1.25am)

Stan
I've thought about my situation long and hard - just the way I like it. And here's how I'm gonna deal with it. Fuck it - just the way I like it.
(1.26am)

Me
Stan:
I've thought about my situation long and hard - just the way I like it. And here's how I'm gonna deal with it. Fuck it - just the way I like it.
Please explain
(1.26am)

Carl
What's going on?
(1.26am)

Stan
I think I'm overworrying. So what if I'm retrenched. It's not the end of the world. 
(1.27am)

I am still alive. I am still young. I am still capable. I still have a pair of hands, a brain, and my private parts that'll keep me very entertained.
(1.27am)

So fuck the work. I'll look for another job, but in the meantime, I'm not going to waste energy worrying about this and that.
(1.28am)

Me
Well done.
(1.28am)

Stan
So I'll draw up a timeline and try to do certain tasks by a certain time, like doing up my resume and sending them out
(1.29am)

In the meantime, I'm gonna relax. I'm gonna get enough sleep
(1.29am)

Enough food, catch up with friends
(1.29am)

And do things which I haven't had the time to do in a long while (have sex) and continue to do things I love (have sex)
(1.30am)

Carl
What job you looking for? What was your last job again, Stan?
(1.30am)