Love for work and the half empty glass

I just don’t understand how some minds work.  I know a lot of people who make the most of what they have, even finding contentment in the meager.  And I also come across people who just don’t appreciate the blessings that are placed right in front of them.  I believe that if work cannot bring joy, then at least it must be a source of pride and dignity.

This is a story of everyday men and women whose attitudes toward their work may just very well be a reflection of how they view their life – half full or half empty.

Meet Marimar, our neighborhood’s favorite recyclable trash collector.  Everyone who is from our place is familiar with her pinched voiced as she hollers “Bote…dyaro…bakal…yeRROOO……… plastic…laTA!
 

Marimar looks every bit a hard worker.  She is barely 5 feet tall.  But with her squinted eyes that she hides behind sleek sun shades, high cheek bones, and strong jaw line that gathers into a pointed chin, she has that tough, defiant look about her.  But everyone in our neighborhood likes her, my wife included, who would patiently segregate recyclables in a plastic bag which she would hand over to me, “Ito, para kay Marimar.”

Unlike other recyclable trash collectors who circle our small village, Marimar does not crane her neck to see what else is available for her, neither does she ask for more.  She simply accepts what is given her, smiles, says thank you, and proceeds to her next stop.

With her present occupation, and unless she hits the lotto jackpot, Marimar is never ever going to be rich.  And she knows it.  But you would never see it in her face or in the way the she carries herself that she is the least bit worried about her lot in life.  She simply works hard every day, pedaling her BMX bike rigged with a sidecar that contains her collected recyclables.  And on Saturdays, she would attend our community’s anticipated mass undoubtedly praying, just like any of us, that tomorrow may bring a better day.  At times, I see a tad of lipstick on her.  She is a picture of simple bliss.

At the other end of the contentment meter are men that I would call Mr. Driver and Mr. Deejay who, despite the opportunities given them still manage to find reasons to belittle their circumstances.  I met them on different occasions at El Grande Resort where I set up a zipline for summer.

Meet Mr. Driver, originally from Lanao del Norte in Mindanao but now residing in Quezon City.  He owns and operates a van for hire.  He seems like a nice man until he opens his mouth.  He complains how in the last two weeks he had barely enough time to rest as people wanting to go places rent his van left and right.  In the last week alone he has driven to Rizal, Bicol, and now here in Lipa.  There was no hint of excitement or accomplishment in his voice as he narrates his laborious journey.

Mr. Driver turns his attention at the people weaving and bobbing at the wave pool below us.  He says that swimming in the pool is no fun because the sun is hot, and the water too. To prove his point he identifies a chubby child from the pool, “Tignan mo pare yung batang yun, para nang litson ang balat sa init ng araw.  Hay naku, paano ka mage-enjoy nyan?”

Mistaking my silence for approval, Mr. Driver continues his rant, targeting the wave pool this time. “Pare, di naman totoong alon yan eh.  Pati yang tubig, artificial din, ‘di gaya ng alon at tubig sa dagat o di kaya sa ilog man lang.  Tsaka pare, naghalo na ang ihi at pawis dyan sa pool na yan eh kaya ‘di masayang mag-swimming dyan.”  He was saying this as more than a hundred people are faking delight as they are heaved up and down by the artificial waves.  I simply kept quiet for I didn’t know that having fun in a pool during summer must have a valid explanation.

Meet Mr. Deejay.  A slight man with bangs parted in the middle. The resort hired him to “operate” its sound system during weekends.  He does not have a regular job but he moonlights as a sales agent for an internet provider.

His gig was simple enough.  He must clock in from 9 to 5, pump up guests with lively music, and play a pre-recorded track of the resort’s safety guidelines.  In return he gets P500 a day, free lunch and snacks, and unlimited access to the pools. I thought playing music in a resort and getting paid for it is a sweet deal.  At least that’s how I see it.

During a break from his “work” Mr. Deejay visited my zipline perch.  It was my first time to interact with him but it did not take long for him to break into a tirade about how he feels he is being made to do things that he did not sign up for. 

Once, he said, he was made to carry the console to another location as the sound system had to be relocated to a more strategic post.  I asked him if he carried everything by himself, he said no he did not, but the resort should have transferred it beforehand because it was not part of his job to do so.  That’s when I realized that Mr. Deejay is a special person.

There must be something in me that makes complete strangers continue talking even if I don’t encourage them to.  He adds that he was given a piece of paper to read over the microphone which basically says: The wave pool is now open, please leave your slippers outside of the wave pool area.

 

Yeah, I heard him announce it alright, in a voice that lacked neither enthusiasm nor the desire to attract excitement, which I would have expected from a hired deejay.  After all, this is  “the”wave pool – the resort’s main attraction -- it only opens twice in the day, once in the morning and another in the afternoon.

I was caught off guard; I can’t believe the rant that I just heard.  I never thought that a deejay must be told to use the mic whenever necessary.  I could try to understand where he is coming from if only I could see that he was being overworked, but he was not.  In fact, I think he is shortchanging the resort.  He played very little music.  And when he did his entire collection was limited to new wave songs from the 80s and 90s and that irritating Pusong bato, and he turned on the volume so low that you would think that he was only playing to himself, not for an entire resort 3 hectares big.

I just don’t get it.  Here’s a man who doesn’t look like he can afford not to have a job, but who finds misery in little things that are non-issues to begin with.  He has successfully managed to turn an otherwise sweet little gig into a miserable burden.  I wonder if he could ever find a job that would make him happy,  let alone motivated enough to do the small things that need not be discussed in the contract signing.

After letting his grievances out Mr Deejay felt that we were close enough to be drinking buddies.  So he extends an invitation to her sister’s place; it was his new nephew’s christening the following day.  I just smiled.  Honestly, I choose my friends carefully and I don’t surround myself with negative people.  I choose to be happy.