:: No new story this week but an old one as Bartele is in Bangkok (well deserved break or Thai BuGils coming up?). A fresh story next week!-- Nico/Bugilsnews.com

FROM THE EDITOR

Little jobs and clever Indonesians


We are probably the only bar in Indonesia where you can go from the first floor to the second floor with a lift. Reason we have this lift is that there are another 4 floors above us with offices, one of which is occupied by Ex-Vice President Try Sutrisno, but that's another story.

With an increasing middle and upper class society in Indonesia, the creativity of Indonesians struggling to survive, often amazes me. Birman, who sells second hand newspapers is a good example of this. And how many of you expats haven't wondered why your pairs of socks is so often not complete? Could it be your pembantu (servant) who once in a while 'forgets' to match them in pairs, 'maybe' hoping that you throw them away? Surviving on the sidelines. There is this company in Jakarta who sends girls around to your office to clean your telephones. They come in uniform and look almost like a disinfection team. They wipe your phone thoroughly and  spray some fragrance on the horn. There are so many examples of the 'little jobs' and it is always a pleasure to discover them. In Indonesia there are more than anywhere else, I am sure.

I was sitting in Cazbar on the new red sofa. I was trying it out. While I sat there, a bit dreamingly, I hardly noticed this Indonesian guy coming in. It could have been a delivery boy or one of the office boys from the floors above the bar, I didn't really pay any notice. He silently passed by and pressed the button of the lift. I noticed a roll under his arm that he tightly pressed to his body. Then I wondered: didn't I see this guy yesterday with a roll under his arm as well? And the day before? The doors opened and he quickly disappeared in the lift. Less than 30 seconds later he came out again, still with a roll under his arm. It started to intrigue me as I couldn't find out what he did with that roll. It became even more confusing when I saw him leaving on the back of a motorbike. Now he was holding at least 10 rolls of 2 meter length in his arms. He had trouble keeping them all together while the motor dangerously hit the road in front of Cazbar.

The next day he silently came in again, and this time I followed him into the lift. I kept my eyes straight on the young man and I was not planning to leave him out of my sight, which was impossible anyway in such a small space. He waited for me to push a button. Automatically I pressed the 2. He now pressed the 5. He kept the roll, some kind of fabric, tight to his body. His eyes looked down to the floor, maybe he was shy, I figured. The lift stopped on the second floor. The guy looked up to me, like he was telling me: are you gonna move out of this lift or what? I stepped out of the lift. I felt defeated by this little man with his mysterious roll. I waited for the lift to come down again. I wanted to have a look on the fifth floor. It wasn't necessary. When the doors opened, the guy was there, with his roll and he was going down. Obviously he had done what he had to do on that 5th floor and whatever it was he did it quickly. I was puzzled but I didn't want to ask him. I figured I just had to wait another day.

The next day I was sitting ready on my sofa. I knew he would come at 7.30 sharp and so he did. I followed him again into the lift and the guy by now certainly started to get nervous. My suspicious look must have worried him as he now kept looking at me in distress. I didn't press a button. He didn't press a button. Finally I pressed firmly on the 5 and crossed my arms. We went up, looking each other distrustful in the eyes. But on the fifth floor he didn't step out. I pointed my both arms towards the open doors to let him go first but he shyly refused. We went down again. I got out but then he went up again! He tricked me again! These Indonesians are much more clever than the average bule, I tell you that.

This had to stop. I waited for him to come down. His face expressed shock when he saw me waiting for him. 'Ngapain kamu balik!?' (Why did you turn back?) I asked him. With his eyes wide open,  he slowly released the initial tight grip on his roll. And without giving a blink, he slowly opened the roll of fabric, which turned out to be a small carpet. 'THURSDAY' it read in large letters. I looked into the lift behind him. A clean and nice carpet with the words  'FRIDAY' was spread on the floor. Stupid bule I was. He rolled up the roll and quickly went outside where his mate on the motorbike was waiting with more carpet rolls. When they clumsily drove off the driver was laughing loudly while the carpet man was telling him the story over his shoulder.

I appreciate these young Indonesian men for running another one of these 'small' businesses that keeps Indonesia afloat and interesting. Their business was only that: supplying clean carpets with the name of the day on it and making sure it is changed every day. It is just now -while I write this (real) story- that I realize that I haven't seen the carpet guys for a while. I look in the lift and indeed, its a plain carpet with no day on it. They lost their contract. Maybe they had a day wrong? No idea. But now the carpet is dirty. And so is my telephone.  

Bartele.

 

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