David Garcia

In the Philippines, where I grew up and am currently based, my name is very ordinary. What I mean is, there are a lot of David Garcias  to be found across the islands, from the provinces way up north to down south.

No wonder there are two of us with the same name at the office. Two David Garcias. One whose full name is David Arthur Garcia, and one who simply goes by David Garcia (me).

Ordinarily, that situation shouldn’t be pose much of a problem, but the thing is, we also happen to have support staff that aren’t among the brightest bulbs in the room.

Take one of the secretaries for example. She’s the one who’s always very quick to answer the phone whenever it rang (possibly hoping it was a call from her boyfriend? Who knows…) and so it was that she gave a nosebleed to one of our clients.

From where I was seated, I could hear her end of the conversation as she talked to the client over the phone:

“Which David Garcia do you want to talk to, sir? Is it the David Garcia with the moustache or the one without?”

Problem: I used to have a moustache before. I’ve shaved very recently but some clients, specially the newest ones, only  know me as having a bare upper lip. The other David Garcia who used to be clean shaven before, now sports a moustache. So, it’s hard to let clients identify us that way over the phone, if we don’t know yet if they’re new or old clients. I motion to the secretary about this and she obviously does not understand, but nods anyway just to get me to stop making wild motions with my arms that clearly distracted her.

“Oh, you haven’t seen Mr. David Garcia yet? But how… oh, I see! You’ve only talked to him over the phone! Well, then, sir, was that Mr. David Garcia the David Garcia who is the Executive Assistant of Mr. Peterson, or the David Garcia who is not the Executive Assistant of Mr. Peterson?

At this point, I stand and make my way towards the addled woman but she purposively turns her back to me just when I make a move to get the phone receiver to talk to the client myself.  She also tries to wave me away like a pesky fly. I stand there, feeling stupid, too surprised to say or do anything further.

She continues trying to find out which David Garcia the client wants.

“Is it David…”

“Arthur! Ask if it’s Arthur he needs!” I hiss like a belligerent snake.

“Arthur?” She stares at me as if I were insane and whispers agitatedly in return, “He is not asking for an Arthur! He is looking for a Mr. David Garcia!”

“David Arthur Garcia! Him!” I point to my namesake who by then was already  bent over and had tears in his eyes from trying hard to control his laughter. “David Garcia no Arthur! Me!” I point to myself, showing her my incisors.

She smiles widely, signaling to me that she finally gets it, this secretary who is trying to be efficient. Or so I thought.

“Arthur David Garcia, sir? Is that whom you want to talk to?”

Everybody within earshot  who had been following what was happening broke apart into giggles and loud laughter.

Finally, the client manages to get himself connected to the David Garcia he had been looking for.

It wasn’t me, after all.

Sigh. Another day in paradise.

____

I am David Garcia and right now I am unusually thinking of: what it would feel like to strangle the necks of scrawny chickens.

Whenever I surf the Net, I always make it a point to include visiting some sites that I’ve bookmarked, naturally with the hope of going through them again, either to review the things that attracted me in the first place, or to see if any updates have been made.

It’s really a big letdown when I encounter error codes that tell me the page I bookmarked is not there for me (insert gnashing of teeth here), specially when it’s something about my hard interests such as beaches, cooking or Hong Kong, for example.

The dreaded “404 Not Found” used to drive me into paroxsyms of hilarity or rage, depending on which site I was trying to access. In most instances, 404 Not Found would dumbfound me and make me want to bang my head on the monitor.

Why couldn’t it be found when I just viewed it a few days ago? Why is it suddenly gone? Why???

I found out soon enough that 404 had evil relatives. As if it were not enough to not find a page I liked anymore, it was also possible to go 500 (“Page Not Available”) and 403 (“Forbidden/Access Denied”).

As far as I am concerned, those error codes tell me one thing only: that the world wide web is manic-depressive. It can choose to make you happy by showing to you pages you like when you come repeat-visiting, or it can totally and callously ignore your existence.

Hmm… reminds me of Ira’s mother.

Duh.

____

I am David Garcia and I am feeling: blech

Whew.

I’m not sure whether I’m nervous or happy. I do know, however, that I’ve got this terribly insistent pressure somewhere in my tummy and my heart is beating faster than normal.

Why not… for the first time, I am actually blogging.

Now, I know that this may sound overly naïve or even stupid to all “natural” bloggers out there, but hey… that’s you and this is me.

This doesn’t come easy to me at all. Not by a long shot.

But I’m doing it anyway.

As to why, well, I won’t lie. Someone who is very special in my life sort of guided me towards this. He’s my employer, Mr. Peterson. Isn’t that rich? LOL Most employers frown on their employees blogging, but Mr. Peterson doesn’t only let me blog (sometimes, even during office hours), he actually eggs me on to do it.

For me to keep a tighter grip on my sanity, he says with a half-smile.

Uhm… I dunno if that should make me relieved that he understands, or worried that he can see right through me.

For some reason, I keep thinking of Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer right now. I first read that book when I was around 11 years old and I admit most of it didn’t make much sense to me then. I’ve reread it now and then over the years, though, and parts of it are going round and round in my mind as I write. Crazy.

If you’re familiar with that novel, you understand don’t you? Hah!

If you’re not, do yourself a great favor and start reading. It’s a book that defies classification, being considered an awesome and unique class act by some of the greatest writers of the century (Beckett, Mailer, Orwell). At the same time, it was the catalyst for an obscenity trial that put to the test US laws on pornography.

Hard to figure out, huh? I guess that’s why I like it. I’m attracted to things I can’t understand. I do hope though, that as time goes on, and if you stick with me, you can help me make sense of things someday.

___

I am David Garcia and my current frame of mind is: Surreal.