fourteen hours of finicky.

The house band played horrendous cover versions of eternal evergreen 80s classics while the seven youths found themselves unwilling to part with the chairs they’d found beside the hotel reception. Delegates were moving to and fro in front of them, and they were hiding their faces, terrified of being called for more tasks. It was already a little over 11…2 hours past their stipulated release times. They just wanted to go home. Through red tape, bureaucracy and hypocrisy, it was done. Eventually.

Yeah. My day wasn’t exactly the best day. I did screw up quite badly on one occasion, but I’m not going to go there. I’m not going to call the Indian High Commission unfair employers, but our second day on the job was bad enough, because we returned late once again. Our lunch and dinner meals were all but almost forgotten, and we were lucky to sneak into the buffet being served for the international/local media…we didn’t have the appropriate clearance for it. Not to say that security was lax, but…thank goodness that it was.

Now, yes…I know that I’m being paid to be a gopher of sorts, but there’re some things that don’t make that much sense. The food and amenities being one. And our job descriptions were…and are…still vague. We’re basically tech-support, tour guides and roadies rolled into one.

The other group at the Mandarin Oriental is apparently living it up. Ugh.

The plan?

Lunch and dinner tomorrow at the ManOri. We’ll try to negotiate our way through it.

Earlier finishing hours. Yes, being driven home is nice, but not when it’s a little past midnight and I’m shit tired.

Oh, the life. I know that it’s empty complaining and that I’m better off doing what I’m doing than nothing at all, but…y’know. Sigh.