Trump Would Be Proud Of Me

When I first heard that I was going to spend 4 days in JB to help organize an event last Monday, I was alarmed. I had a lingering suspicion that I would lose my precious sleep over the weekend. The only comforting thought was I'd have access to hot water tubs for 4 days in a row, something that I always look forward to during every trips.

My worst fear and suspicions were confirmed by the way my phone kept ringing angrily followed by a flurry of instructions to do this, to do that, and oh, that also needed to be attended to. If anything, we'd be at the theatre / shopping complex / in bed in case you need to reach us, they promised me. It's awesome to be part of the management, like, I can't wait to have my own slaves someday.

We had a hectic time preparing the event. There were many rounds of emails that popped into my inbox to inform on the changes, and more changes and mooooooreeeee changes. By the time they firmed up on the tentative, another year had passed (as shown in the invitation card whereby invitees were supposed to confirm their attendance last year).

So anyway, my responsibilities were:

1. Invite the media and made them swear, tsunami or no tsunami, they'll come
2. Prepare press kit & souvenir for those who come

4. Procure a booth structure - (not done)

The booth structure was the main culprit as to why I had to sacrifice my rest days and neglect my hot bath tub. This was an emergency, for cry-out sake! The supplier had disappeared (didn't want to pick up the phone, didn't call us either) 36 hours prior to the event and somebody ought to load a gun and shoot that liar find the old structure and re-use them. Which is fine, except that the structure is spoiled. In the end, I suggested to use a plywood structure and staple the roll-up visuals to it. The way they fretted and panicked over this matter, I tell you, made me wonder whether they were doing that purely for the excitement.

On Sunday, we had a rehearsal of which the emcee pompously told everyone how to behave and made them re-rehearse a couple of times. Lepas tu, dia sendiri pulak yang buat silap during the event itself! Then we had another round of briefing and were told to come at 7 am! 7 freaking am! I had to restrain myself from bellowing - 'What the fisshhh head curry??'

So much for 7 am on Monday. The ones who told us to come at 7am came at 7.30am instead. Then I was all over the place greeting and welcoming the media (some of them were really pompous as the result of having to sacrifice their sleep to come here. Hello, some of us didn't sleep for 4 days in a row, tau?). Of course I didn't tell them that. Merely ushering them to their seats and politely shoving press kits in their hands. I had to run to greet the newcomers / entertain questions from those who had arrived and ensembled the press kits all at once and all by myself. I'm sooo looking forward to be part of the management.

So it happened finally. After 72 hours of rushing to get approvals, screaming at the fax machine, plotting, complaining, and jumping up and down in agitation, the 3-hour event went uneventfully (except during the time somebody gatecrashed our party) . My sweaty shirt stuck to my back. My stomach rumbled. My feet hurt. All for this 3-hour event. That afternoon, I vented my stress by throwing out half of the store room contents and rearranging the stuffs. It helped tremendously, I believe.

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