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Entrances & Exits
Hello, Friends!
***Lights***
"Listen. This is an important luxury brand. It's the presenter of the Cannes filmfest, for crying out loud. The boutique I'll be running will be in The Peninsula on Salisbury..."
"...as opposed to The Peninsula on Mody?"
"Why are you so mean to me?!"
"What are you talking about?"
"I never assume that everyone knows which 'Peninsula' I'm referring to, even though it's ranked #23 in the world by Conde Nast. My boutique is in prime real estate, with a seven-figure monthly rent. What in the world made me think I could do this?"
Beat.
"...are you done congratulating yourself?"
"Shut up!" I swatted my friend, Oren.
"You're cocky, and it's part of your charm."
"I wasn't being cocky," I retorted.
Beat.
"Well..." I reconsidered. "Maybe a little bit."
***
I remember entering Hong Kong Disneyland for the first time in July 2005. The palm trees, spindly and with limp fronds, were supported by cables. The sheer magnitude of construction was breathtaking. Forklifts everywhere. Mountains of clay, sand, gravel. Security checks at every turn. It was difficult to imagine that less than two months later, the property was slated for a soft opening. And yet, there it was, the welcome arch:
Welcome to Hong Kong Disneyland.
The moment the bus drove through the roundabout, my heart skipped a beat.
***
As it turned out, there's an entire brand of gay boy known as the "Disney twink."
"What's your type?"
"Oh, I like bears."
"I like jocks!"
"I like muscular bottoms."
"I like Disney twinks."
You get the picture.
The more I resisted the stereotype, the more I exemplified it. Two and a half years later, I was over it. Nay, I was over myself.
"I'm looking for an assistant," a bespectacled nightspot manager mused at a cocktail.
I admired his thinly veiled swagger that the club was doing brisk business under his leadership; don't we all love to "complain" about how busy and stressed we are?
"As it happens," I chimed, "I'm looking for a job."
***
After passing two lengthy interviews, my final interview was scheduled at 11AM.
It was a rainy Wednesday morning. By 10AM, I was gulping a hot cuppa at Pacific Coffee on Wellington. My computer was on. I was brushing up on bar tending! Service sequence! Food and wine pairing!
I was a jittery mess. Sure, I've been performing since I was eight; Entertainment was my beat. But I had zero hours of F&B experience.
By 10:30AM, I helplessly ducked into a 7-11 on D'Aguilar, reaching for a cold Carlsberg. I downed it all in one gulp.
As I waited for time to pass in front of Hong Kong Brew House, I realized that my breath probably stank of alcohol. So I returned to 7-11 for a pack of mints.
11AM came. Even though I wasn't any more ready than I was before, I took the lift to the second floor.
An hour later, I walked out of FINDS as its new Assistant Manager.
***
Learning to walk with a tray full of martini glasses was akin to stage combat, only more difficult. There's a technique to F&B, sure, but there's no choreography. Triangulating FINDS was like guerilla warfare. You're in the trenches, and it's every man for himself. You're bombarded with orders! Broken glasses! Complaints! There's no point hiding - turn every obstacle into a creative gambit! So what if you lose? If you don't play, you don't win. Why would you want to miss the fun?
It was exhilarating.
There's no better place in the world to learn than Lan Kwai Fong, I figured. You've hardly even learned to walk when the training wheels are kicked from under you. Now, fly!
***
Like the fabled northern lights, my every weekend at FINDS was bright, hot, sizzling. Svedka! Escada! Beer Bellini! Pink Sundays! After FINDS' celebrity drenched fourth anniversary party, my celestial luminosity, so to speak, had fizzled into a sputtering end.
I bid a quiet goodbye to my Managing Director over breakfast in Cafe O whilst I remotely coordinated the ingress of The Golden Oasis. The 1,000kg opus in bronze by Lillian Tsui was to have its maiden private viewing in FINDS.
A month later, after my final Pink Sunday, I wordlessly slipped away.
***
Working in The Grand Hyatt was a revealing journey through the subtlety, intricacy and complexity of corporate culture - indeed, of human relationships.
"I am not so idealistic any more," I confessed to Oren whilst we tucked into some tasty yakitori. We had a laugh recalling my days as Disney's de facto union leader. I wrote passionate letters to management, which accomplished... nothing. Apparently, my e-mails were circulated; I got a reputation as a rabble rouser, which only isolated me further.
"It doesn't matter that you're right if you don't know how to get things done," Oren intoned half seriously.
We took a swig of Asahi.
***
After a year of fun and frolic at Club JJ's, I accepted an invitation to move on, and to move in.
I had a lot of affection for the place, my unbelievably hardworking colleagues, and even the unnamed "apples" who clip-clop ever so lightly across the marble foyer.
I didn't want a tearful goodbye.
"Why don't you throw a Spice Girls party?" Cliff suggested over pizza at Tivo. It was Sunday night.
On Tuesday morning, after the press release had gone out, Cliff messaged me on Facebook:
"Wow. You really went for it."
***
It's May 2009.
In a dizzying cloud of feathers, sequins and - strangely enough - chilli peppers, I bid a spicy goodbye to Club JJ's.
"What happened?" I groggily croaked the next morning.
"We had a hotdog. We were supposed to go to Propaganda, but you were falling over. So we went home," Chris deadpanned. I was sure he was making fun of me. I practically crawled towards the medicine cabinet for a Panadol.
My phone beeped with an SMS from Tony. "What a wonderful night. When will we have so much fun again? Tell me quando, quando, quando?"
I hurriedly put on my suit for an 11AM training on visual merchandising.
***
"You're cocky, and it's part of your charm."
"I wasn't being cocky," I retorted.
Beat.
"Well..." I reconsidered. "Maybe a little bit."
Beat.
"I'm nervous," I admitted. "And excited."
***Scene***
With Affection,
Astron
"Listen. This is an important luxury brand. It's the presenter of the Cannes filmfest, for crying out loud. The boutique I'll be running will be in The Peninsula on Salisbury..."
"...as opposed to The Peninsula on Mody?"
"Why are you so mean to me?!"
"What are you talking about?"
"I never assume that everyone knows which 'Peninsula' I'm referring to, even though it's ranked #23 in the world by Conde Nast. My boutique is in prime real estate, with a seven-figure monthly rent. What in the world made me think I could do this?"
Beat.
"...are you done congratulating yourself?"
"Shut up!" I swatted my friend, Oren.
"You're cocky, and it's part of your charm."
"I wasn't being cocky," I retorted.
Beat.
"Well..." I reconsidered. "Maybe a little bit."
I remember entering Hong Kong Disneyland for the first time in July 2005. The palm trees, spindly and with limp fronds, were supported by cables. The sheer magnitude of construction was breathtaking. Forklifts everywhere. Mountains of clay, sand, gravel. Security checks at every turn. It was difficult to imagine that less than two months later, the property was slated for a soft opening. And yet, there it was, the welcome arch:
Welcome to Hong Kong Disneyland.
The moment the bus drove through the roundabout, my heart skipped a beat.
As it turned out, there's an entire brand of gay boy known as the "Disney twink."
"What's your type?"
"Oh, I like bears."
"I like jocks!"
"I like muscular bottoms."
"I like Disney twinks."
You get the picture.
The more I resisted the stereotype, the more I exemplified it. Two and a half years later, I was over it. Nay, I was over myself.
"I'm looking for an assistant," a bespectacled nightspot manager mused at a cocktail.
I admired his thinly veiled swagger that the club was doing brisk business under his leadership; don't we all love to "complain" about how busy and stressed we are?
"As it happens," I chimed, "I'm looking for a job."
After passing two lengthy interviews, my final interview was scheduled at 11AM.
It was a rainy Wednesday morning. By 10AM, I was gulping a hot cuppa at Pacific Coffee on Wellington. My computer was on. I was brushing up on bar tending! Service sequence! Food and wine pairing!
I was a jittery mess. Sure, I've been performing since I was eight; Entertainment was my beat. But I had zero hours of F&B experience.
By 10:30AM, I helplessly ducked into a 7-11 on D'Aguilar, reaching for a cold Carlsberg. I downed it all in one gulp.
As I waited for time to pass in front of Hong Kong Brew House, I realized that my breath probably stank of alcohol. So I returned to 7-11 for a pack of mints.
11AM came. Even though I wasn't any more ready than I was before, I took the lift to the second floor.
An hour later, I walked out of FINDS as its new Assistant Manager.
Learning to walk with a tray full of martini glasses was akin to stage combat, only more difficult. There's a technique to F&B, sure, but there's no choreography. Triangulating FINDS was like guerilla warfare. You're in the trenches, and it's every man for himself. You're bombarded with orders! Broken glasses! Complaints! There's no point hiding - turn every obstacle into a creative gambit! So what if you lose? If you don't play, you don't win. Why would you want to miss the fun?
It was exhilarating.
There's no better place in the world to learn than Lan Kwai Fong, I figured. You've hardly even learned to walk when the training wheels are kicked from under you. Now, fly!
Like the fabled northern lights, my every weekend at FINDS was bright, hot, sizzling. Svedka! Escada! Beer Bellini! Pink Sundays! After FINDS' celebrity drenched fourth anniversary party, my celestial luminosity, so to speak, had fizzled into a sputtering end.
I bid a quiet goodbye to my Managing Director over breakfast in Cafe O whilst I remotely coordinated the ingress of The Golden Oasis. The 1,000kg opus in bronze by Lillian Tsui was to have its maiden private viewing in FINDS.
A month later, after my final Pink Sunday, I wordlessly slipped away.
Working in The Grand Hyatt was a revealing journey through the subtlety, intricacy and complexity of corporate culture - indeed, of human relationships.
"I am not so idealistic any more," I confessed to Oren whilst we tucked into some tasty yakitori. We had a laugh recalling my days as Disney's de facto union leader. I wrote passionate letters to management, which accomplished... nothing. Apparently, my e-mails were circulated; I got a reputation as a rabble rouser, which only isolated me further.
"It doesn't matter that you're right if you don't know how to get things done," Oren intoned half seriously.
We took a swig of Asahi.
After a year of fun and frolic at Club JJ's, I accepted an invitation to move on, and to move in.
I had a lot of affection for the place, my unbelievably hardworking colleagues, and even the unnamed "apples" who clip-clop ever so lightly across the marble foyer.
I didn't want a tearful goodbye.
"Why don't you throw a Spice Girls party?" Cliff suggested over pizza at Tivo. It was Sunday night.
On Tuesday morning, after the press release had gone out, Cliff messaged me on Facebook:
"Wow. You really went for it."
It's May 2009.
In a dizzying cloud of feathers, sequins and - strangely enough - chilli peppers, I bid a spicy goodbye to Club JJ's.
"What happened?" I groggily croaked the next morning.
"We had a hotdog. We were supposed to go to Propaganda, but you were falling over. So we went home," Chris deadpanned. I was sure he was making fun of me. I practically crawled towards the medicine cabinet for a Panadol.
My phone beeped with an SMS from Tony. "What a wonderful night. When will we have so much fun again? Tell me quando, quando, quando?"
I hurriedly put on my suit for an 11AM training on visual merchandising.
"You're cocky, and it's part of your charm."
"I wasn't being cocky," I retorted.
Beat.
"Well..." I reconsidered. "Maybe a little bit."
Beat.
"I'm nervous," I admitted. "And excited."
With Affection,
Astron
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