On my way to work this morning I noticed a rather pitiful looking snowman; a half-melted Frosty left over from the snow we received just before Christmas. I have no idea where the idea came from, but as I came to a complete stop at the 4-way (I got a ticket at that very stop sign when I first moved to McPherson for not stopping, so I take special care at this particular intersection), I thought 'if I made a snowman, I would use dog turds as eyeballs.'
My Snowman would be smelling carrots amongst other, perhaps less pleasant, odors.
Acknowledging that this was a rather odd spontaneous notion, I asked myself why I had come up with it; the answer was painfully simple. Conventional snowmen ocular devices consist of two pieces of coal, which I neither possess nor know where to find. My dog Charlie, however, is teeming with potential snowman sight-givers and is always willing to make a donation to the cause.
In inner contemplation this is really about something much more profound; I love how these types of thoughts come on suddenly and keep me amused by my own mental meanderings. I find myself as odd as everyone else, which makes me a very interesting and formidable companion. This ultimately serves as the fundamental basis for my ability to maintain my own happiness, and its an attribute I will fight to keep sacred at all cost.
Flight 1 of 4: Thursday, December 19th Visakhapatnam to Bangalore
We left for the airport straight from the plant and I can't pretend that I was horribly sad to leave. Sure, there were things I would miss, largely the weather and food, but I had been working really hard and mostly felt burnt out and eager for my familiar routine that enabled me to deal with my typical amount of life stressors; without which burn-out comes on at an accelerated rate. So, with fond remembrances of the people I had met and places I had experienced, I sat waiting for the first of four flights and what would ultimately be the beginning of a 39 hour journey home.
Flight 2 of 4: Friday, December 20th Bangalore to Frankfurt
Though we arrived in Bangalore around 8:45pm on Thursday, our flight to Frankfurt was not going to leave until 3:40am, Friday, so we got some food then alternated sleep and walking around to kill time. Now, bare with me because things are about to get very personal, all for the sake of addressing a question that I've habitually pondered throughout my life: Why is the concept of shitting oneself so infinitely hilarious, even in the face of experiencing one of the most embarrassing scenarios a Human can endure?
I briefly mentioned in one of my previous posts that despite the exotic and extremely spicy cuisine my stomach remained a steel tank, retaining it's predisposition to clinical constipation. During my Indian tenure there were occasional noises and pains, but nothing to cause any alarm; mostly I just felt weak, nauseous or sated if my tummy was off, but I never felt like I'd have diarrhea. I had been very careful not to eat uncooked food or drink the water while there however, which is the typical culprit for such issues. Well, at the airport I had a sandwich with uncooked lettuce and onion on it and also drank a cucumber lemon iced tea drink (delicious!) likely made from native water, and I distinctly remembered thinking.....'hmm, maybe this will help relieve my constipation.' I would live to regret those words when my stomach began feeling queasy just as the flight began to board.
I sat down and waited through the normal boarding hullabaloo and safety videos; I was miraculously left alone in a row of three seats so I was relieved at not having to disturb others if my stomach did decide to act up, and excited at the prospect of lying down to sleep. Things seemed to have settled down until we taxied to the runway. It hits like a ton of bricks; don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about, the cold sweat the breaks on the brow when you realize there is a unmistakable possibility that you're going to shit your pants. Immediately the thoughts began to stream by: We're taxiing so there's no way to get up, if I did they'd have to stop the plane and we'd lose our position in line for take-off. And, worse yet, I was wearing the only pants I'd have access to for the next 2 days since I had to check my bag due to the extra weight all the brass deities I'd bought added to my luggage. Oh sacred Ganesh, please help me now! Perhaps if I did shit my pants, the stewardess could supply me with new pants? Where the pants would materialize from I had no clue, nor did I care, I was just hoping they kept some around for such occurrences. Maybe I could fashion a pair out of Lufthansa blankets, or borrow something from another passenger?
As the cramps peaked so did my anxiety, my breaths coming in controlled and focused lamaze class-like huffs. I didn't know whether I had 5 minutes or 5 seconds until the inevitable event, but I had to admit to myself in that moment that I would very likely shit myself somewhere between 0 and 10,000 feet; I paused and began to laugh, which didn't help the situation, but I couldn't help myself; this was f*$^ing hilarious! I made it by the way, my prayers to Ganesh answered.
After that the flight was incredibly uneventful until I awoke from my slumber and decided to have a look out of the window. I was confronted with a sight I was not expecting, glorious snow capped peaks, the likes of which I hadn't seen since peering out over the continental divide in Colorado. Breathtaking and tear-provoking. I hit the flight status button on the TV so that I could see where we were; I didn't recognize any of the city's names so I wrote one down and later discovered that we were near Sukhumi, Georgia and were flying across the Black Sea. I was astounded by the beauty and made a mental note to come back for a better look if I ever had the opportunity.
Flight 3 of 4: Friday, December 20th Frankfurt to Chicago
We were late coming into Frankfurt and I already had a tight connection. I made it to security as my next flight was supposed to start boarding so I asked the attendant how far Gate Z69 was, to which she replied 'very far;' awesome, I proceeded to haul ass to the terminal proclaiming many 'excuse mes!' and 'coming throughs!' along the way. When I reached the gate I saw that the inbound flight hadn't yet arrived and we were also still waiting for the crew to report for duty, so our departure would be delayed. I sat back and felt very thankful for the opportunity to get some exercise. I also took the a few moments to capture the massiveness of the bi-level 747.
Once we finally took off, after a two-hour delay, I stayed awake long enough to eat lunch and chat up my neighbors. Then I took two Xanax, and aspirin, donned my earplugs and eye mask and covered myself up with two blankets. I woke up 9 hours later just in time for our snack, hahaha; truly the ideal flight!
First ride on a double-decker 747, the best part of which is that you hardly ever feel turbulence!
Flight 4 of 4: Friday, December 20th Chicago to Wichita
After clearing customs I headed to the my final flight of the trip, feeling extremely relieved yet exhausted. Nothing, and I mean nothing in the entire world, could have prepared me for what happened next. Now, I kindly ask you to stay with me because unless you're a fellow Hospirian you cannot fully appreciate the significance of this event. Also bear in mind that I had then been traveling for 36 straight hours, for work, and had not performed any of my usual personal hygiene rituals one would perform within that length of time; I'd also narrowly escaped having to fashion an airline blanket as a skirt, going commando no less.
As you may or may not know Hospira's corporate headquarters is located in Lake Forest, Illinois, north of Chicago, which is why when I saw who I thought I saw, I was not wholly surprised, because who I thought I saw was none other than Mike F&$@ing Ball, the CEO OF HOSPIRA!!! Seeing Bradd Pitt could not have provoked the adrenaline rush I was then experiencing. My immediate reaction was 'we're totally talking to him!' Are you kidding me?! I was, in that moment, a testament to the international presence and prominence of the company I believe in and work for, since I happened to be traveling from one Hospira site to another each half a world away from each other yet affirming the same fundamental mission: "Advancing Wellness through the right people and the right products." I reasoned that the worse I looked the more dedicated I was to the company; my ripe scent that of the Hospirian spirit! I won't give all of the details, but I will say this: Mike Ball is an incredibly affable and endearing man who contains no shred of the inflated egoism that has been displayed by many a pharmaceutcial CEO. Fate put me in that O'hare terminal that day; I am, and will always be, eternally grateful for the opportunity to become steadfast in my admiration for our corporations leadership.
All my life I've struggled with the difference between what I'm trying to accomplish and what people perceive I'm capable of based on my age and appearance. In every role I've had people tell me how young I look, insinuating that I can hardly know what real life is like, and making me feel condescended too in general. People can't tell by appearance, however, that I've supported myself since I was 17 years old and have had to work very hard to rise above my upbringing. Life taught me some very tough lessons earlier than they hit most people. The primary issue is that I was born old; always wise beyond my years and never able to convince others of my abilities, though admittedly not overly willing to try as my approval seeking days are behind me. This, combined with my ambitious nature, has led to a somewhat frustrating life; only in my recent role have I been given more responsibility, and even then it's extremely limited and I still do my share of grunt-work. Now, in stepping into my new position as a Compounding Production Supervisor I'll finally be taking that pivotal step in my career, from piss-on to not so much of a piss-on, haha, but I'm scared of this change; am I really ready for it?
I won't lie, there's a certainly a level of comfort that comes with being a piss-on. Ultimately, the final decision comes down to my boss, and I can elevate issues that I don't want to deal with myself. These practices will no longer cut it. I will soon be the people others go to to make critical decisions and look to for guidance, and while I'll still have my own manager, these responsibilities are expected of me. During my interview I made it clear that I both sought and felt comfortable with this level of responsibility, but when it comes time to make a call that will be the difference of 500G worth of product being accepted or rejected I'll likely feel some butterflies in my stomach, or vomit.
Regardless, I am prepared to own my decisions, good or bad, and take responsibility for my mistakes. I do this because I'm unwilling to hang my workers out to dry for any product lost on my shift. I'm doing this for the production personnel who bust their butt everyday for 12 hours and never feel supported or hear that their doing a good, and extremely important, job. I want to motivate the troops! I want to show them that attitude is a choice by walking in everyday with a smile on my face despite chaos and adversity, and telling them that their contribution to the company is absolutely critical. I want to improve the quality of Hospira's products by improving the morale on the production floor, to cultivate job satisfaction in my employees by understanding their underlying motivations. Granted, I realize there are some people who will not be responsive to my efforts, such people will never change and that's too bad. I don't have For the rest, however, I know I can turn negative to positive; that is my ultimate mission and it will require every ounce of serenity I have, it may even require that I excuse myself to some secluded corner, cry, and then come back to rally for the rest of the shift.
Will I make mistakes? Hell yes. Will I make million dollar mistakes? Not without trying my damn-est to get help first. Will my attitude elevation tactic work? I have no idea. Will I be able to maintain my own positive attitude while working a 12 hour over-night shift? Probably not, but I'm sure as hell going to try.
In short, I don't know if I'm ready, but I'm going to do it anyway.
Dog Days of India
Having been raised by a dog-fanatic, one extremely knowledgeable in all things breeds and behaviors, I've also acquired an interest in canines, and consequently it's not surprising that I've become extremely intrigued by what I'm calling 'India Dogs.' These dogs are everywhere, sometimes in packs, sometimes solitary. All of them look exactly the same except for their coloring, with what I immediately assumed were features akin to those of Australian Dingos. But what I find most interesting about them is their extreme expressiveness in looks and manners. Each morning on the commute to the site I observe these pooches trotting along the roads, sitting at bus stops, or hanging around food stands looking up expectantly. One gets the distinct impression that they have an agenda,
almost like they’re also headed to work and beginning their daily routine, which I found phenomenally amusing. India dogs have character! (And likely some have rabies) I kept trying to get a picture, but since I've mostly seen them while we're both in motion and headed to work, it’s proven quite difficult until I found one on the beach enjoying the Sunday morning sun. An Aussie has since confirmed what I initially suspected, they are Dingo-like in appearance. Now I'll await my mother's assessment.
India is HOT
It's winter here yet the average high has still been around 85 degrees. I broke a sweat while walking along the beach, and by simply sitting in the sun for too long at the hotel. Today I read in the paper that it's been unseasonably cool..... Needless to say, I'll think twice before heading over here in July/August.
Down Under
Aussies say 'reckon' a lot... Who knew? Also, they don't drink Foster's in Australia, it's marketed for the US. It's their equivalent to Natural Ice, haha. They do, however, eat Vegemite daily.
"Finger Lickin' Good"
Here are the fast food chains I've seen thus far: Domino's, Pizza Hut, KFC and Baskin Robbins. They seem to particularly like KFC, and I've even seen KFC knock-offs on the street (Konney's Fried Chicken). I've also heard that there's a McDonald's and a Subway. Oddly McDonald's in India is more of a family restaurant than a fast food joint, ideal for a Sunday night dinner. This amuses me. Though a bit disappointed, as long as I don't see a friggin' Applebee's or Olive Garden, I'm happy.
Swearing and Sex are Bad
I noticed upon arriving in Mumbai, and while walking on the treadmill and elliptizing, that they heavily censor western movies here. There are a lot of western movie channels, and I've been able to enjoy at least one of the Harry Potters movies daily; I find it strangely comforting. Anyway, the censorship seemed a little over the top, removing even the slightest reference to swear words and especially anything sexual. Therefore, I was shocked while watching 'The Ugly Truth' and they let slip a 'bullshit;' I then waited to see if they censored what I knew would follow. Sure enough they blocked out 'tits,' 'ass,' and 'blow job.' Interestingly, they also run banners at the bottom of the screen that state 'Smoking will kill you' when movie characters are smoking, which I first noticed while watching 'The Hobbit' and Bilbo was enjoying his pipe. Another banner provides a phone number to call in case people find the content of the film offensive and wish to file a complaint. While watching 'Cruel Intentions' I remember pondering how many calls they'd receive on that hotline, and also wondering if I'd actually get to hear any of the movie since I expected 95% of it to be censored out.
E6?.... Hit!
The view of the Bay of Bengal has looked like the set up for a game of Battleship for the last couple of days. Apparently there's a naval base here. Regardless, it's a bit intimidating.
Gingerbread Disco
One night while having some drinks my colleagues and I noticed that the beautiful Gingerbread house they had put up as a Christmas Decoration has disco lights flashing inside of it. Yet another example of how they go above and beyond with their decor here, these people know how to make everything colorful and fun!
After a week of being in India I've heard all of my co-workers express their extreme eagerness to leave and return to their loved ones back in the States and Australia. The typical reaction would be to agree, but I cannot because I'd be lying. Instead I get an uneasy feeling which fluctuates from gratitude to sadness; gratitude that I lead a flexible life that allows me to travel half way around the world with minimal impact on my responsibilities and the people in my life, and sad that I seem to be emotionally deficient in the eyes of my peers and lacking in 'loved ones'. I felt exactly the same way during the November all-staff meeting at Hospira. Our site manager asked how we'd feel if a 'loved one' received a Hospira drug in the hospital in order to inspire pride and care in ones work. My immediate thought was, that's easy because I'm alone, I don't have any 'loved ones.' That, of course, is completely untrue, but I found it exceedingly sad and disturbing that my initial reaction was to think of myself as completely alone in the world without people to care about, or people who care about me.
Anyway, both emotions originate from the fact that I live alone, nowhere near my family, and that I don't share my colleagues' enthusiasm for going home because I pretty much make wherever I am home, and whomever I'm with my family. People always seem shocked that I don't miss anything or anyone, and can't relate to how I live my life largely free of material objects and close family members. I keep myself free in this way because I'm extremely independent and I want, above all things, to be a world traveler. It would be folly to build steadfast roots anywhere that hinder my ability to leave home whenever I'd like. Indeed, I've always been uncommonly independent. In eleventh grade I was selected to attend a week-long government training rally called 'Girl's State' in Albany, NY in no small part because I was the only candidate excited to make the trip. It seemed odd to me to hear that others girls were unwilling to travel away from their familiar territory; I couldn't wait to see novel places and meet a group of diverse people. This independence culminated in my urge to move out of my Mother's house and support myself from the age of 17, working two jobs throughout my senior year of high school.
It's not that I don't miss certain things and people, because I definitely do, particularly my dog Charlie, home Eden, co-workers at Hospira, and the guys I spin with at the YMCA; I have many friends and feel truly blessed for having each and every one of them. These people constitute my family. I used to feel profoundly guilty that biological family somehow always got left out of the assessment, but I realized that it shouldn't surprise me as I've lived at least one time zone away from where I grew up for over seven years. In that time I've become accustomed to not seeing them, therefore missing them is not a sensation I usually experience. Granted, at anytime I'd give my right arm to see my beautiful and funny Sister, her three amazing children, my loving Father and Step-Mother, and my tough-as-nails yet selfless Mother; but since these sensations are always with me, it doesn't come into my consideration of missing home while traveling. Thankfully they would never expect me to miss them in such a way, they know better, that I was born to be a wanderer and love regardless of our proximity. I take great comfort in knowing that they support and love me no matter where I am physically.
Even still, I struggle with society's preconceived notions of how people should always want to be near their family, and often need to reiterate to myself that I'm just not like most other people, that I am different. Most importantly, I need to let those feelings of guilt and self-resentment go and learn to embrace and love the strong person that I am; I was never meant to fit the typically mold.
Part 2: Some Things Never Change
Back home I struggle with the fact that I’d rather do my
normal night routine of Dinner, Walking Charlie, Reading/Meditation, Pogo.com
and Dessert. It sounds boring I’m sure,
but it’s a ritual I treasure to the point of addiction. Often I’ll refuse to make plans and/or flake
on tentative plans with friends, or allow them to come over but implement a strict
time limit in order to keep this ritual sacred.
During the trip I realized that I’ve brought that addiction half-way across the
world with me as I opt to spend my nights alone in my room with a Sudoku puzzle
and ThinkThin bar instead of having dinner and drinks with my co-workers. Perfect example, Thursday was a lot of peoples’
last night in Vizag so a group got together. Now I’ve come to really love these people,
but those feelings pale in comparison to my urge to go straight to my
room, put on my robe, turn on the perpetual Harry Potter movie on the WB, and
play Sudoku while eating my dinner and having a cup of tea. This complete aversion to nighttime social
functions has bothered me on and off for the last year or so, and as such I have
often contemplated its origin.
I’ve assessed that the probable root cause of my obsession
is, paradoxically, my extreme extroverted Type A personality. I spend 90% of my day with people; I love
people. I love interacting with them,
watching them, listening to them inconspicuously, contemplating their inner
thoughts and surmising their motivations; I even like to try and influence them
using positive thoughts, like trying to put a smile on their face simply by
visualizing them smiling. Consequently,
when I’m around people I emit massive amounts of energy and I rarely stop talking. It’s due to this hopeless extroversion that I
overwhelmingly prefer to keep my nights solitary; I simply need a couple of
hours to recharge my batteries and enjoy quiet and solitude. I once explained it to my friend this way: 'It’s not that I don’t want to be around you, it’s that I don’t want to be
around me anymore, I can only listen to myself talk for so long before I begin
to get annoyed and need to stop.' I realize how insane
that sounds, but when one is as self-aware as I am, it comes with the territory.
I did, at least, go down to say good-bye to my new
friend. Tomorrow night someone else is
leaving, and I promised not to eat so much at lunch so that I’d be hungry
enough to go out to dinner with her. I
can, at least, amend my schedule occasionally and definitely when I make a promise or commitment to a friend. I never allow myself to break a promise without severe consequences. Regardless, altering this habit requires an unusual degree of effort. Perhaps someday I will change, but I love myself too much to keep beating myself up over my natural inclinations; instead I choose to accept my preferences and seek friends who understand and do not judge my behavior.
Today we finally left the hotel to venture into Vizag to do some shopping. I hadn't really intended to buy anything other than the items my co-worker from Kansas wanted as well as a deity for my house, but with the prices and quality of merchandise I just couldn't help myself! We first went to the mall where I purchased my friend's items and some really cool earrings for myself. [Link to Pictures]
Durga, the Invincible!
Next, because a colleague and I both wanted quality deity statues, we went to a place we had seen on our daily commutes called the Eastern Art Museum. Getting there turned out to be a real adventure since we weren't sure where to go and the Tuk-Tuk driver didn't speak English very well. He took us to where we thought the place was located, but it wasn't quite right; in trying to find it my crazy sense of direction kicked in and told me that we were headed North toward the airport and not into downtown Vizag where I knew the shop was located. Well, we were on a four lane highway and there was no place to U-turn, so he turned around right there in the middle of it and we went the wrong way down the highway for about half a kilometer. It was a good thing I had went to the bathroom at the mall, otherwise I may have pissed my pants!
Anyway, here's my Vizag shopping experience inventory:
Small marble tower with a clock and adorned with small gems
Two Indian yoga magnets
Grand Total: 4473 rupees ($71.93)
I think I did pretty damned well! According to my Bob Barker taught consumer knowledge, the brass statue alone in the states would have been priced at $100, and the marble clock would have fetched at least $80. The best part, something completely priceless, occurred while I was paying for the Lakshmi and Ganesh portraits; they took the time to bless these items using their three main deities (mentioned above); I'm not too proud to admit it brought tears to my eyes.
1) The bathroom is about a mile away from where I sit at the Site; ok,
maybe not a mile, but it’s a good 2-3 minute walk that involves going
outside. I’ve noticed on such excursions
that I consistently go to the wrong side of the staircase to pass people. In the US we keep to the right, in India they
keep to the left; both dictated by their respective driving practices. The result is that I’m fairly convinced that
all the Vizag personnel are wondering who the self-entitled white girl is who
keeps making them deviate from their norm and move to the right on the
staircase. Also, speaking of bathrooms, there are urinals in the woman’s
bathroom and they put mothballs everywhere for fragrance. Lastly, all bathroom stalls have little hoses
to clean off your butt when you poop.
No, I haven't used this device. I'm not sure it's more hygienic than TP.
2) Indians do a sort of head bobble when they socially interact, typically to display understanding, but it kind of makes me dizzy
when I engage them or even just watch.
Also, you can’t ask Indians yes/no questions because they will always
deliver a ‘yes’ which means nothing. They
say yes primarily to please, but then whatever you asked for does not get
accomplished. This is particularly
pronounced at restaurants, where service tends to be extremely slow; when you
do get your food, however, they insist on serving it to you and will take the
plate away from you to get you more if they see you trying to get it yourself. Like in Mumbai, this continues to irk me.
3) I took a tour of Vizag's manufacturing area and experienced
something I never, even in my wildest dreams, thought I’d feel: Mixing Tank
envy. Granted, I don’t expect anyone to
understand what I’m talking about since it exclusively relates to compounding
pharmaceuticals, but an example may suffice to convey this sentiment. Imagine you have a super pitiful small
battered and bruised mixing bowl and all you have to blend its contents with is
a shotty old-fashioned rusty hand-crank mixer.
One day you go over to a friend’s house and they’re sporting a state of
the art KitchenAid
Professional 620 Stand Mixer. What
you feel is not unlike how I felt looking at those gigantic shiny and new 6,000
Liter tanks with two built-in impellers designed for optimal mixing.
Oh, the drugs I could make! Or
rather, the drugs my Compounders could make since I’ll be Supervising
Compounders, not actually compounding the drugs myself. I'm so proud! (PS Who in their right mind would pay $900
for a F$#!ing mixer?!)
4) I’m no longer surprised in the slightest that the majority
of NYC taxi cab drivers are Indian. Compared
to India, NYC traffic is comparable to a wide open country road. Most importantly, though every instinct tells
me I should be petrified, I sit back and relax as our driver maneuvers effortlessly
around the mind-numbing array of motorcycles, buses, cement trucks, tuk-tuks,
pedestrians, food carts, Indian dogs, cattle and tractors. I simply trust him. Interestingly, the traffic exclusively relies
upon the culturally specific and intricate language of horn honking. Everyone seems to understand and communicate via the duration
and number of honks and moves accordingly like an elaborately orchestrated
dance; its hypnotizing.
Although I despise talking about my ‘eating disorder,’ I’m
struggling in a fairly humorous way so I thought I’d share my woes. First I must mentally prepare you for the
issue at hand. Imagine that you used to
be fat, like really really fat, like Oprah Winfrey circa 1993 fat. Next, imagine that you busted your ass for
one and a half years to lose 130 pounds but you didn’t implement a contingency
plan to start eating normally again, and now you’re left with a paralyzing fear
of gaining weight that leads you to err on the side of over-exercising and
under-eating when you feel you’ve eaten too much. Not to mention the horrific mental food guilt
you suffer when you do overeat, or sometimes by simply thinking about eating a
cupcake. In summary, you can’t seem to
get a grip on the one activity that all Humans must do to survive: Eat.
Now, put that mind-bend in your pocket and pick up these
gems to boot. When you do allow yourself
to splurge and have a decent meal, you habitually go completely overboard, eat
until you’re uncomfortable, and then have two desserts. We’re almost there. Finally, imagine that you get your favorite
kind of food, in buffet form, for two straight weeks.
Drum roll please….
Put all that together and what do you get? An enormous shit
sandwich stuffed with a bloated stomach, poorly implemented buffet rules you’ve
set for yourself yet consistently amend or break altogether just to get in one
more bite, and lastly, extremely sore legs. It’s only been two F*#!ing days. If I don’t do something to stop this cycle soon
my legs are going to fall off and I’m going to look like Jabba the Hutt for multiple
reasons.
I had a real scare this morning because I started feeling
very sick and nauseous. At first I thought
the food was finally starting to bother my stomach, then I realized that I had rapidly
went from eating seven 200-300 calorie meals a day to two 1,000 calorie meals a
day with a protein bar for dinner; my stomach simply couldn’t handle the load,
it’s being stretched and torn, causing the pain I experienced this morning as I
poorly attempted my Yoga practice. I
also suspect I’m eating too much protein since I double up on the stuff to
avoid eating fat-promoting carbohydrates.
I avoid them the same way an Orthodox Rabbi avoids eating Ham Hocks wrapped
in Bacon served by a Prostitute. It’s
easy to forget, however, how difficult protein is to digest compared to carbs,
so I tested my hypothesis at breakfast this morning. I was feeling shaky, weak and nauseous and
was even contemplating telling my boss that I couldn’t go into the site, but I
knew she’d be disappointed so I sucked it up, ate some bran flakes mixed with
yogurt and water, watermelon, half a piece of chicken sausage and some kind of
extremely bland carb cake that I slathered with strawberry jam. It was touch and go for a while but I started
feeling better within the hour, and even got hungry after only four hours so I
knew I had moderated effectively.
But all that hard work was undone at lunch when I discovered
Hakka noodles; well, those along with a super spicy pumpkin curry dish. They looked like Lo Mein, so I thought I’d
try that instead of rice, but it’s the Indian version and is superior to its
Chinese counterpart in every way. They’re
kept lighter and are not cooked as long so the veggies are crispier and the
noodles aren’t so oily. Anyway, my final
plan, which I sincerely hope works, is one plate with no over-lapping where I
can see a bit of the plate between each selection. I’ll be honest, it has to
work or I may become one of the only people who successfully killed themselves
by eating too much.
Seriously though, the food is amazing, hahahahaha, and I’m
probably the only American who has ever traveled to India and still remained
chronically constipated. Do I get some kind of trophy for that?
Monday, 12/09/2013
During the drive back to the Hotel tonight after a typical long day, to which I must become accustomed, and as I drowsed and drooled on my backpack, an amazing question dawned on me: What motivates Hospira Vizag Production Personnel? This question for McPherson personnel has been near and dear to my heart in recent months after realizing how low the morale was on the production floor. Ultimately, this obsession resulted in my applying and interviewing for a Production Supervisor job so that I can personally 'Motivate the Troops' and drive First Pass Quality (making a batch of drug without any errors) by supporting production, and my own staff within it. I want to get people excited about what they do; making life saving medications, a job to be proud of indeed! After a bit of contemplation, I realized that I'm able to motivate the workers back in McPherson because they are hard-working Americans like myself and have many of the same motivating factors; but I never realized this was cultural until witnessing the Hospira Vizag environment and learning about some of their biggest hurdles to starting production and passing their FDA audit, which are almost entirely due to cultural difficulties. I can't give any details as it's confidential information but I can share this: McPherson produces quality medications because our personnel profoundly buy into the Hospira culture of integrity and ownership of responsibility with respect to the quality of our drugs. Furthermore, our production personnel are motivated to care about their work because they understand that the very medications they make could, and very likely will, end up in someone that they love.
In stark contrast to this, however, how do you motivate workers who have grown up in a culture of filth and 'Barely-Organized Chaos' to make quality medication when they know full-well that they, nor their loved ones, will likely ever have access to it. [Since we make generics, readily accessible to even the most destitute. I'd like to think this isn't the case, but I know first-hand the power of the poverty stricken mindset.] How do you enforce good hygiene practices and careful execution of complicated procedures within a workforce whose cultural views do not align with the objective of integrity and producing quality medication for the sake of pride. It surprised me to reason that though I'd likely be a great Production Supervisor back in McPherson, I'd be woefully worthless here because, culturally, I don't understand what motivates these people to work hard and do things correctly, or simply to care about their work and the quality of the drugs they manufacture. Let me be clear however, I'm not saying that they don't care, only that I don't understand their motivations to care or how they display that caring, so I couldn't hope to support or motivate them as a supervisor.
PS Though it's not official yet, when I get back I expect to transition into that new role. I couldn't be happier to be given my own crew and the chance to positively impact the quality of our medications directly through production, even if it does require me to work 12 hour overnight shifts.
Interestingly, India grows on me. Yes, it's dirty but the people are friendly and outgoing, always willing to put on a smile at the slightest provocation. This also occurred to me during our drive through Vizag on the way home from the site tonight; it was a long drive. The city was all lit up and buzzing with activity, it looked colorful and fun, and best of all the filth wasn't as visible in the dim lights. I even saw tractors and dump trucks at the site today that were adorned with colorful deities and pom-poms. Oh, and then there's one of the biggest selling points from my perspective: No fast food or chain restaurants!
First of all, I'd like to make a retraction from my previous post. While driving to the Mumbai airport, and being able to see part of Mumbai for the first time, I'm no longer disappointed, at all, that I didn't leave the hotel to explore. Imagine the dirtiest street in Queens, multiply it by 1,000, and you may get close to the cleanest street in Mumbai. I've never seen anything like it; one fellow Hospirian best described it as 'Barely-Organized Chaos.' The weirdest part was seeing men and women dressed in professional clothes going about their daily business, the contrast between their appearance and their surroundings was astounding.
Once in Vizag I really experienced the thrilling adventure that is riding in a car in India. There were cows and dogs wandering through the streets, stop
signs that go wholly ignored, families of 5 on mopeds with the littlest
haphazardly slung from their mother’s arm (see picture), many men urinating and sleeping in the streets,
and the incessant blowing of horns which is the primary mode of communication between drivers of everything from Tuk-Tuks to Semis. I could hardly believe my eyes, my immediate thought was ‘I could never function in this environment.’ Still, I consider myself lucky that I could think anything other than
‘I’m about to die’ as the car wove through two lanes of traffic being used as
four lanes with everyone going different speeds and weaving unexpectedly into each
other’s space. I couldn't help but think
that this environment and way of life is distinctly Indian; it wouldn't work
anywhere else, nor would India be Indian without it. It is unfathomable to conceive of India
progressing to first world standards, it just wouldn't fit.
My boss and I were discussing a mutual friend and colleague
back home who has accepted an ex-pat assignment here without ever having seen
the place, or being in India in general.
On that ride, I couldn't help but feel afraid for them; if it was my
first time here and I knew I’d be here to stay for the next 5 years I’d likely
start sobbing uncontrollably. That being
said, my boss then asked me if I’d ever consider an ex-pat assignment, which
I've conveyed interest in in the past, to which I replied that I’d have to see
what type of housing they offer their Hospirians and it's location within the city. Like
anywhere, one adjusts only after getting into a routine and is comfortable with their surroundings; where they shop, eat and perform their other normal daily functions. For me, it would be difficult to establish
such a routine amongst all the filth and chaos as it’s simply against my
nature. Some people thrive in that
arena, however, so I don’t wish to display an adverse judgment.
When we pulled up to the hotel I was instantly taken aback
by the magnificent view that was the Bay of Bengal on the Indian Ocean, with
gigantic waves crashing and a beautiful, lengthy coastline and massive ocean
liners. I could even see a lighthouse
atop a mountain to the south. The hotel
itself is like a resort and has multiple restaurants, shops, bars, a gorgeous
pool area, spa, fitness center, and even an outdoor track beautifully
landscaped on the roof. My room
overlooks both the ocean and a vacant lot next to the hotel that used to have a
building on it because all that’s left is a cool temple-ruins-looking staircase; oh,
and a random cow that was lying under a tree.
I was confused at first when looking in the bathroom, my initial
thought was ‘Where is the shower?’, then I realized that the bathroom wall,
shower, and the wall on the other side of the shower next to the bed were all
glass. So basically, I can watch the
waves crashing as I’m showering, very cool!
My co-workers and I got somewhat settled in and it felt
particularly comforting to be able to unpack my stuff and lay down some roots
to establish a routine for the next 12 days; then we had lunch and went
wandering around the hotel and outdoor track to take in the coastline. Next we went down to the lunch buffet area to
see if we recognized any fellow Hospirians, and we found a whole bunch of
them! Brief introductions were made, but
I didn't actually catch anyone’s name, but we arranged to meet for drinks at
18:00 before dinner. Lastly, we headed to the gym to work off lunch and jet
lag. I won’t discuss what completely derailed
me before our meet-up time, but after this occurrence I was very much in need
of a drink, so I showered, got my camera to snap some pictures, and headed
downstairs to the pool/bar area a bit early.
While taking pictures of the pool I saw a table of four guys I
recognized as some of the Hospirians I had met briefly earlier, so I sat down to shoot the shit. What I truly love
about Hospira and everyone who works there, is that we’re real, down to earth
people; no inflated egos that can go along with inflated titles. Instead, we cultivate a go-team mentality
where everyone, no matter how low or high, does whatever is needed to get the job
done and openly communicates with each other to achieve that goal. I say this because I knew full-well that most
of the people I was interacting with were Director Level pr even higher,
otherwise they would not have been sent on this mission to India, yet they were
dropping more f-bombs then I did back in my fondest days, and told great and crazy tales of their
Indian adventures thus far. Finally, I found
friends with whom to explore and they promised to take me on their next outing! I authentically liked everyone I met and best
of all the diversity of the group was astounding. Some people were Corporate, stationed in Lake
Forest, IL, others were from our Rocky Mount and Clayton sites in North
Carolina, we ever had some Aussies from the Mulgrave plant, and still others work
remotely and are located all over the US.
Some had visited McPherson before and had dined at the very
McDonald’s that I lovingly call home on the weekends.
On a final note, I'm afraid I have bad news for the friends I promised post cards too; I'm not at all confident that I'll be able to get out and look for such items. Also, no one here has ever seen postcards sold in the nearby stands; this isn't a touristy town to say the least. I'll do what I can to make up for this deficiency with my ramblings and as many pictures as I can manage without offending people.
Saturday, 12/07/2013 Mumbai, Hilton Hotel [Picture Link]
I'll begin by saying that this is, hands-down, one of the most beautiful buildings I've had the honor of being in; mostly due to my obsession with Marble and great landscaping, but please allow me to take a minute and explain my disappointment at being encapsulated within its boundaries.
My life's ambition is to travel, I want to absorb the sights, smells, culture and people of everywhere I go no matter how near to, or far from, home. I typically achieve this goal by traversing where I am on-foot, I absolutely love to wander without any particular destination to see where life takes me and whom I may meet; and above all I congratulate myself on my independent nature and advanced sense of direction, both of which enable me to make smart decisions regarding my health and safety. As I am now at the mercy of two Managers who do not encourage independent travel or the consummation or raw fruits or vegetables in this foreign land, however, I am not able to leave the hotel as neither of them wish to leave and I cannot go out alone without adverse judgement on my decision-making abilities from a professional standpoint. I suppose this is the compromise I must make for 'Business' travel.
Ok, I'm done complaining ... thanks for listening, I feel much better. Note that what follows are facts and not to be taken as continued complaining.
The diverted flight to London did not end up leaving Heathrow until nearly 13:00, and once we flew to India, got through Customs and checked into the hotel it was nigh on 6:00 the following day. I hadn't slept during the 8.5 hour flight, opting to catch up on some movies (The Internship, Meet the Miller and Wolverine-all great, and 21 Jump Street-not so great); I was so tired upon my arrival that it was all I could do to babble a few words and remember to use bottled water to brush my teeth. My brain was so jet-lagged and confused in fact that I had no idea how to turn the lights in my room on or off, and had to ask one of the baggage handlers to show me as I simultaneously, and profusely, apologized for not having any rupees to give them, as I hadn't had the chance to change any money. Everyone here is so nice and attentive it boarders on creepy, and this coming from one of the most extroverted Americans alive! Once I had slept 4 hours I got up to have a light workout, and I was stared at by every hotel worker and guest as I got lost multiple times, both to and from the gym. At first I was worried that my tattoos were offending them, and thus the basis of their staring, but finally decided that they'd likely stare at me like that anyway, so I let it go. After all, I'm REALLY white.
Anyway, the day hasn't been a total bust. I had a nice time sitting outside talking to my co-workers where it was delightfully warm and smelled of flowers, got to catch up on my work emails and partook of a fantastic buffet; I even tried Mutton! The servers are so attentive that they insisted on getting the food for me, which I found unnerving, but I must remind myself to be culturally sensitive and tolerant. Who could consciously be upset with people who simply, and authentically, wish to provide the best possible service? A bitch, that's who.... I'm not a bitch anymore.
Onto my final destination tomorrow: Visakhapatnam (Vizag)
Flight 1 of 4: Wichita to Chicago (Wednesday, 12/04/2013)
This flight was largely uneventful other than sitting next
to delightful pro hockey player from Vancouver whom I chatted with the entire
way.
Flight 2 of 4: Chicago to Newark
This flight was completely uneventful. The best part was getting Sushi, which I
normally shy away from, at O’Hare during our layover. It was seriously phenomenal; grilled teriyaki
chicken with avocado and asparagus wrapped in a super thin sesame paper instead
of the typical seaweed wrap (the reason I normally don’t care for Sushi, that
and I’m allergic to shellfish).
Flight 3 of 4: Newark to Mumbai (Entering Thursday,
12/05/2013)
Now, this was supposed to be a 15 hour flight during which I
would almost completely miss the entire day of Thursday; no big loss as I didn’t
have particularly high expectations for the day. I could never have anticipated the luck,
however, that a consistent and terrifying mechanical sound issuing next to me
on the back of the huge Boeing 747 would issue on such a Thursday. I have no idea how long we’d been on the
plane when the noise started. We got to
cruising altitude and had dinner, shortly after which I put in earplugs, popped
a Xanax, and settled in for the next God-awful number of hours. The flight was relentlessly bumpy and the
earplugs somewhat ineffective, so sleep did not come easy. It wasn’t long before the noise started. I kept my eyes closed and didn’t rouse but
remember thinking ‘if this is what it sounds like with earplugs in, that sound
must be really loud.’ I poked my head
out for a peak and sure enough everyone was exchanging extremely nervous glances
between each other and to the area from which the sounds was coming. After a while the captain came on to assure
us that they were aware of the issue, there was nothing wrong with the plane
and we were safe, and that we’d be continuing on to Mumbai and returning to the States. Well, for the
next few hours the noise stopped and started in about thirty minute
intervals. I awoke from my weird ‘I’m
resting but not really sleeping’ state with an extremely bruised ass and an
urge to pee, so I got up to walk around and chat up the Stewardesses, which is
when I found out we were being diverted to Heathrow airport where a mechanical
crew was going to inspect the issue causing the noise. Because the extra fuel that would take us to
Mumbai made the plane too heavy to land, we had to dump it. This seemed like such a horrible waste, but it
was necessary and looked pretty cool too.
The stewardesses didn’t expect us to even pull up to a gate at Heathrow,
stating that we’d sit on the tarmac while the crew did their inspection, then
we’d take off again; turning our 15 hour flight into a much longer one. This thought didn’t make me happy, but I was
at their mercy and resigned to my sour-ass’s fate. Regardless, I thought it was awesome that I
was at least stopping in the UK for the first time. We landed and were told to hold-tight until
the inspection was done.
After surprisingly little time, we were informed that the
flight had been cancelled, but that we’d be shuttled to a hotel, given lunch,
dinner and breakfast the next morning, and free internet at the hotel; but I
was most excited that I’d be sleeping in a real bed, able to exercise and, duh,
I WAS IN F@!$#ing LONDON! Are you
kidding me?! I wasn’t going to let this opportunity go to waste! After a quick lunch and shower, my boss and
our co-worker and I headed to Heathrow Terminal 1 and the underground
Piccadilly Line to downtown. The sights
and sounds were so beautifully unfamiliar, the people so dazzling to
watch. Since we had limited daylight
time, as it gets dark around 3:45pm, we did to the biggies: Buckingham Palace
on the Thames and Big Ben (my personal pick).
We walked along the river through a gorgeous park between the two
destinations; there were still colorful leaves falling from the trees and the
grass was a brilliant green. It was so
phenomenal I felt like crying; to be in London, the one place I’ve always
wanted to go, I simply can’t explain how blessed and grateful I felt. After getting caught in the cold London rain
(in clothes that were intended for the 90F temperatures of India), we headed to
a pub around Trafalgar square name The Clarence where I partook of the most
delicious hot spiced red wine and a ‘Proper Sandwich’ of roasted butternut
squash, malted brie, and sweet beet relish. PHENOMENAL! How could I have known
that this seemingly uneventful Thursday would become one of the most memorable
days of my life.
After our brief, yet sublime, outing we took the hour-long
train and bus route back to the hotel. Despite my extreme fatigue, I took a
relaxing brisk walk on the treadmill to finish off the night and prepare for the
long flight ahead; I slept like the dead.
I’m now comfortably seated in the United Star Alliance lounge waiting for the plane part to be installed so that we can continue to Mumbai where
I’ll spend the night before flying to Vizag on Saturday morning.
On a more general note, this was one of the best experiences
I’ve ever had for a couple of different reasons: 1) United handled the
situation wonderfully and spared no expense to make the unfortunate situation
as comfortable and convenient for the passengers as possible, and 2) I now have
about 200 new Indian friends. Seriously,
I can’t get over how friendly everyone is! They don’t shy away from asking
questions, or striking up conversations.
Most people even shared personal information regarding how the cancellation
impacted their personal plans, and spared no details; it was extremely endearing.
Interestingly, I met a great couple from Toronto who once owned a
hotel in Gananoque, Ontario right across the St. Lawrence from where I grew up. It truly is a small, and magnificent, world!
