Doha Days: Not Quite a Fairy-tale Ending

Being jammed in the office for literally the majority of the day isn't something new or unexpected, considering the line of work I've chosen and chosen to pursue, but though I've recently had to spend several hours with someone with a name out of a Disney fantasy, it's been anything but.

Those who have been keeping in touch would have heard of some of my troubles and complaints, and I do understand that not every place is as ruthlessly efficient as acronym-crazy Singapore, but there are limits to decency and sensibility surely, limits and thresholds and breaking points that many of us here have seen shattered and surpassed.

Firstly, it is still quite a joke that a number of staff here have not gotten their IDs, and in some cases work Visas yet - being in effect illegal aliens - with one of my colleagues having been submitted to such treatment as being asked from HR why he didn't get his passport stamped with the right stamp (in Arabic) after he had given it to them for that very purpose. And paid for it. Twice.

Our real estate agent was flabbergasted a couple of months ago when we told her we didn't have them yet, as we had been in the country for well over six weeks, and according to her the process took all of six days. When we did eventually get it, of course, it was quite simply one of the defining moments of my (admittedly brief) time here so far.

Quarter to two on a Tuesday afternoon, the gallant hero braves the elements to enter the gauntlet of bearded men and veiled women, armed with nothing but a temporary staff pass - because HR has not issued actual cards after two months - to try and claim an artifact of great power. A Qatari ID.

Past sentries and gatekeepers, and finally standing before a harsh face behind a shield of crystal.

And here is where fantasy ends and the nightmare begins (restarts?).

Me: Good afternoon, I'm here to collect my Qatar ID...
Man Behind Glass: Wait. (Talks to colleague and shows him a photo on his phone.)
Me: (Waits)
MBG: (Assumed translation from Arabic) Look at this picture of a a Land Cruiser, I am thinking of getting it.
Friend of MBG: I thought you already had one?
MBG: Two, but they are so cheap and I earn so much, haha!
FoMBG: Haha!
Me: Hi, can I just collect my ID, I have work to do?
MBG: Wait.
Me: (Waits)
MBG: (Arabic) Do you know where I can buy a watch?
FoMBG: I think there is a shop beside the ice-skating rink.
MBG: Of course my friend!
FoMBG: Yes, if you want you can buy a leather hand-bag to put it in too.
MBG: That's a good idea.
Me: Excuse me?
MBG: What?
Me: I need my Qatar ID.
MBG: It's 2pm.
Me: Yes, I've been here for 15 minutes.
MBG: Two o'clock close.
Me: What?
MBG: No more.

And the two dweebs roll away on their little office seats to continue their inane conversation while I am left without something that I should have gotten 6 weeks ago, something that I needed to set up a bank account, phone line, wire my home for internet and TV (more on that later), and basically evade arrest from handcuff-happy local police.

You can imagine by aggravation at this point. But there is little else I can do to combat such reckless disregard for responsibility, and so I return the next day, as ordered. This time, with backup.

With my room-mate, the trek to HR was no less arduous, and we arrived with no more hope for a decent outcome. He went first, and was literally on his knees asking the dude behind the glass to open his drawer to at least look to see if our documents were there. After haggling for several minutes, the guy relented and looked into the black hole of his heart - or drawer - and lo and behold, there was a bunch of Qatar IDs and passports.

Now, seeing as how I am kind of the obvious answer if you play a game of "one of these things is not like the others" in this department, the bright orange Singaporean passport sticks out amongst the less garish British ones that nearly everyone else has. And so, even with my rather cycloptic sense of sight, I spotted the little thing and hope flared in my heart.

Me: Hello, I am here to collect my Qatar ID.
MBG: No.
Me: What?
MBG: No here.
Me: I saw it.
MBG: No.
Me: You were holding my passport literally one minute ago.
MBG: You just want passport?
Me: I want my passport, ID, everything else that comes with it.
MBG: Not here.
Me: Open your drawer.
MBG: Not here.
Me: Open your drawer.
MBG: No.
Me: I am not leaving until you open that drawer and give me my things.
MBG: (Heavy sigh) Okay, here.

That isn't an exaggeration or dramatization either. In fact, it is condensed and abridged, and the entire exchange featured longer and increasingly heated pauses and me having to deal with the unblinking gaze of someone being blatantly and willfully dishonest for no other reason than to impede the life of another.

I wish I could say that that episode (2-part episode?) was something unique and anectodal, but it isn't. If anything the days where I have yet to encounter a case of blinding incompetence or even worse malicious intent are few and far between.

That last line was originally supposed to read "are the days I remain firmly entrenched at home" but that's not the case either.

The house/villa is rather amazing, spacious and quite stunning for a rent well within our means - leaving more than a bit left over - but despite being there since the middle of September, we are still without amenities like a phone, cable television and home broadband.

Now, I know what some might be thinking, that they are luxuries and not exactly essential for human survival, but if you also consider that this place is painting itself as an upcoming hub for business, culture, and life, looking to host the World Cup (slave-controversy aside) among other things, this is truly a joke.

It is no stretch to say that we have called, E-Mailed, or physically been to the Oreedoo/Qtel store close to thirty times since moving in, and there is no resolution in sight, despite the house already being wired for fiber optic broadband - as evident by the presence of a modem/router that indicates a network already present - and three visits from technicians who have each given us a different answer to the same question:

When can we get this sorted?

Once we were told to call a certain number, but only with our own Oreedoo number. Despite the actual job being to get an Oreedoo number/account.

Several times the crew has not arrived on the days they said they were, instead picking times we specifically said we would not be home.

At least three times we have been answered with "I don't know" when we asked about things that should be protocol.

Worse than being at the end of our tether, we've been lost in a sea of uselessness, with no help in sight. I'll be amazed if I'm able to play FM14 or catch up with Arrow and The Walking Dead before Christmas, at this rate.

But life here is not so different from living in a world where the horde is out to get you (on an unrelated note, Warlords of Draenor?), where the minority struggle to survive surrounded by entities that seem intent on shortening your odds of success, going out of their lumbering, plodding, close-minded ways to - for lack of a better term - fuck you up.

All this along with constantly malfunctioning office hardware, questionable tap-water, daily gridlocks, the lack of anything resembling chilli, and the continued misfortunes of Manchester United and Milan make me a rather sad bloke.

Bloke? I am also slowly adopting British speech patterns.

That's gash, mate.

Doha: Day 9, 10, 11 - Dorigo, Discos, Disappearing

So...

Not yet a fortnight and I've fallen behind in my writing. And to think I had (and still do) hoped to become some sort of journalist and columnist. I'd probably be unemployed before my second article, probably immediately after the first, considering my rather poor and consistent flaws and habits, one of which is using too many commas to make sentences too long, causing entire paragraphs to be dominated by only one actual sentence, accompanied by a couple of very short ones if they are lucky, or if I am somewhat distracted.

I hope I don't do that here.

But I guess it's been a rather busy few days here, especially since I've finally been entrusted enough to actually do stuff without having someone peer over my shoulder - much like I've been peering over theirs the previous week - and having my stuff to on air. Did a couple of things I can honestly and humbly say are pretty good, by my standards at least. Still haven't quite done what I do believe is my forte, the more tactical analysis kind of gig, though it does seem that the resident presenters and pundits here do a lot more than most of the ones I've had to work with previously, so even that isn't that much of a task.

Pity, actually.

But can't complain, or at least I won't.

For those wondering, I did eventually go out with the fellas from work the other night, somehow finding myself, hours later, amongst a sea of sweaty bodies in a club in Doha with shoddy air-conditioning. That was not a very fun experience in itself, though generally the night was alright, even if I felt like an outsider. Not that it was the fault of anyone other than me, but that's probably going to be the last time in a long time I get dragged to one of those things.

Tony Dorigo was there, of course, and Mido.

Yup, Mido.

Scandalous and controversial retired footballers aside, I managed to slip away as soon as I could, hearing the next day of how some of the others found themselves getting closely acquainted with rapidly-filling toilet bowls as they found the limits to their alcohol intake.

So here I sit, alone in my room, as most of my colleagues are in the process of getting smashed in the bar downstairs. Still unsure if this puts me in a negative light; pub culture is a big thing, after all, if what I've read and watched is to be believed, but really I don't ever see myself getting involved in that. Not even on religious grounds, as those who know me well will scoff at, but just...

Meh.

More than a week here now, of course. There's a familiar routine developing, in some ways, though with what has happened (and to a larger extent, not happened), that may very well change very quickly very soon. In the meantime though, making do with what I can and what I have, munching on a simple sandwich while watching random TV shows. Did my first load of laundry, getting the bank account sorted, now just need to get a place to stay and some actual cash money.

No problem there, right?

Doha: Day 7 & 8 - Dissonant Delays

Missed a day, hence the title, though I suspect and expect that all my loyal readers, followers, fans and underlings have been craving for yet another update from the lone Singaporean in the team in Doha. Not really, no. But I'm going to give it to you anyway.

A strange mixed weird different couple of days, with yesterday (Wednesday) being the single most frustrating one since I landed, even more so that the first morning where I was called in to an empty building and made to look like an idiot while the person who said he'd sort it packed up and went for lunch.

Turns out I've got another Visa issue, which in reality is no surprise considering not-so-distant history. Looks like the jibes about finally going somewhere where I of all people won't have a problem with immigration is total and utter bollocks. Long story short, I was not issued a business visa, and until that actually happens other paperwork (and salary matters) won't be processed.

Raged about that for enough yesterday, along with other things that happened to further aggravate the heck out of me, and went to bed angered, frustrated, regretful.

But then i got up today to a message from someone that did cheer me up, and again reminded me that despite all the rubbish, there's more than a tad of positivity to be had.

Plus work today went alright.

Actually did something meaningful that's going to be on the show, out on air to many places on the weekend, though as usual Singapore won't see it. I bet there are folks back home who think I'm making my work up. I wish. But then I must say I'm pretty happy with what was churned out, even if it was heavily based on someone else's work.

Sitting now in the room, about half an hour away from a call from said colleague to go to some bar or pub or - heaven-forbid -  club. The last time I spent any meaningful time in a club (bar a flea market at Zouk) was literally half a decade ago, and really that went tremendously horribly and hilariously well at the same time. Not actually looking for that again any time soon, if ever.

But most everyone is going, and I do want to get to know the people who I'm going to be seeing almost every day for the foreseeable and considerable future. Peer pressure? Perhaps. Sigh.

Also, I have found that I'm saying "mate" a lot.

Doha: Day 6 - Distinct Dispositions

Another long day today, made longer by the "meeting" we had with a representative from the HR department, a tudungster who did more to enrage than enlighten, her words revealing if her attire was not; sending everyone away fidgety and fuming. At least it helped bring everyone together, if nothing else.

If it wasn't already apparent, everyone who had been recently recruited had been told different things regarding different things, with matters like insurance, travel allowance, visas, accommodation, salary, and flight tickets all confusing the lot of us. Some have already been explained, others are still up in the air, though almost every answer (or non-answer) infuriated those present, with certain things blatantly contradictory to what some had been led to believe, with the flimsy shield of "government policy" the only thing tossed back at us.

But at least I felt like I did more today, though that's not saying much. Most days so far I feel like a sheepish onlooker trying not to get in the way of people obviously well able to do their things, like a lifeguard at a kiddie pool where parental guidance is mandatory. Not that I am making sure people stay alive, far from it. I'm just watching and observing (here is where the analogy is not totally accurate, lest a pedo accusation is laid down), trying to pick up the basic skills and jargon and routines that the vast majority of my colleagues are already familiar with.

I do miss home though, with my mom sending me a picture of Kaera lounging on furniture. I hope she's doing well. Mom too. She mentioned how she kept hearing me cough, which suggests either she misses me a lot, or there is a sick poltergeist back in Kembangan. I didn't even realize I coughed a lot.

People always say they miss the food, the weather, other things from where they came from, and while I do understand that I don't actually miss a lot of it that much, save perhaps for the public transport system in Singapore, and the fact things get done when you hope they do.

A lot has been done, gotten done, and needs to be done, in many ways. Here, back home, in the office, other places. A brave girl told me today to keep going, keep at it, reminding me of things I shouldn't have to be reminded about even as she was overwhelmed with things.

Not sure how many of you are fans of The Simpsons, but after so many admittedly craptacular seasons, one scene sticks out in my mind after today, "And Maggie Makes Three".

Yup.

Doha: Day 5 - Diving Days

Strange day today, though that's true of every one since I've landed in the Middle East.

No rush to get anywhere, being the day off for the week, and yet I got up much earlier than expected. Decided then to take a swim, doing as many laps as I could before the shoulder started to act up. Nowhere near Michael Phelps, of course, but kinda pleased regardless.

Then to breakfast, where the team of Indonesians have taken a particular interest in chatting me up since discovering I'm able to join in in their conversations. I haven't spoken this much Malay or Bahasa over the span of a few days since the days I was in Secondary School.

Back to the room then, to start to seriously look at properties to live in once the time at the Marriott is up. Found a few decent places, including the one suggested by a colleague to share, which may just be the best bet. Still, fairly pleased that I managed to find a couple of options that were both within budget and not stupidly far from the office, and got called by two agents who promised to get back to me with a list of potential places to view next week.

Everything's moving both really quickly and still too slowly for my liking, so I decided to take some time and go... grocery shopping.

Yup.

Didn't actually buy much though, just some supplies to keep me alive when I'm too tired/lazy/nonplussed to grab dinner after a long day of (non?) work. Good news? Nothing is more expensive than it is in Singapore. Bad news? Nothing is cheaper than it is in Singapore. Worse news? No Peanut Butter Cup Ben & Jerry's.

Maybe I can go for another swim tomorrow, though I first need to find out what time I'm actually expected in the office.

Doha: Day 4 - Dessert Dilemma

I was going to say that this was the end of the weekend, but then realized how irrelevant that statement was, considering the term only really referred to the conventional work-week that isn't practiced here, and that my work schedule would make that definition null and void regardless of geographic location.

Still, it feels pretty significant. First Premier League weekend done and dusted - Monday night notwithstanding - and it's been a real eye-opener.

Moving forward I recognize there's a lot I can and need to do to put myself in a better position than I am now, something that three people have pointed out to me in various ways. I'm annoyed at myself for not contributing as much as I want, even if the colleagues I've spoken to assure me that it's fine. Those same ones are also the ones who have suggested how to alleviate that aggravation, of course, and I hope I get "stuck in" as one put it.

Also had my first ice-cream since moving here, a small scoop of supposed Kinder gelato, though it didn't really taste like it and perhaps I was better off picking the white chocolate instead. Still, pretty decent, though I'm told that the hotel's selection of dessert is even better.

As is its humus.

No, I am not going to develop a palate for humus.

But then development is the name of the game, as it were, and really why I'm out here, right? There is the obvious monetary benefits, but as cliche and sappy and cheesy as it sounds, I'd hope that only a ludicrous, Gareth Bale-ish offer would be enough to tempt me away from my loved ones on that basis alone.

Develop then, and get stuck in. Maybe even try that new ice cream.

Doha: Day 3 - Damn Drogba

So Day 3 dawned with another searing morning that promised an even more scorching midday. Roused earlier than I expected, I decided to have a quiet breakfast on my own before going back to the room for a bit of not-so-legal Game of Thrones action, but before I could start it up, I got a call telling me about a meeting with some of the big guns from Qatar. In less than an hour.

Uh oh.

So I pulled a Keanu and rushed (rushed), meeting a bunch of colleagues to taxi to work, where everyone was already there, mostly. Of course, the meeting never materialized, and I continued the previous days' work of following the other fellas who had all come together from ITV do their thing, and tried to not get in the way.

A bit later though, I was given a Task.

Asked to help a gal I had met the day before with putting together a piece about Roman Abramovich, plotting a sort of timeline and montage of all Chelsea had achieved since he has pumped his billions into Stamford Bridge. Not too difficult, though made all the more challenging when you consider we have little to no Premier League footage (for now) and have to look for an ingest the tapes (old-school) of each game where they had won something in the last decade or so.

Drogba, Drogba, Drogba.

Holy crap.

That aside, it was the big kick-off for the Premier League, and Arsenal losing is always fun (though that colleague is a die-hard Gunner), and United won easily as well. Not so easy for me in the studio/gallery, trying to find my place and a place where I might be useful while not stepping on any toes.

Hard.

Not to say i don't get what's going on, far from it. A lot is similar to what happened at ESPN Star Sports, and later Fox (even the screw-ups), though some things are slightly different. Problem I can forsee is that in the gallery itself, there is already at least one person doing what it is I normally do, and while that's fine, for now I'm not nearly able to do anything else because I still don't really know how to use Avid, coming from a rough FCP background. The people I've spoken to have said they understand I need time to adjust and acclimatize to new systems, workflows, and people, which I do. But I am personally annoyed and aggravated that I'm unable to contribute significantly, watching everyone else go about, sometimes struggling with their workload.

Time to batten down the hatches then, and make things work. Eventually.

Also, bit of trivia for football fans. Without looking it up, who scored the last goal for Chelsea in the 2005 League Cup Final against Liverpool?

Enjoy.