What my mother wants from my new job!

“Pi.. Nanti dapat gaji, belikan mama yang tu!”

Hn. This was becoming a regular request. Not good. Definitely not good.

Us girls - that includes me, my mum, my grandma and Pura - were at an electronic store in boisterous Tampin, looking for a new food processor to replace the one that went haywire in my grandma’s kitchen. Getting that one thing was easy enough. We pick, we pay, we leave.

The problem? The multiple decks of other, unnecessarily gleaming appliances. The kind that tends to glue the butts of housewives to the electronics aisle for that much longer.

My mother isn’t one. A housewife, I mean. Making a career out of practical spending, her perusal through these aisles was methodical. An economist at heart, she wasn’t into the window shopping, pay-on-credit lifestyle so shamelessly popular these days. She firmly believed in cold hard cash. It was either that or nothing.

I followed her to the back of the store, where the shelves were lined with microwaves and ovens. I saw her eyes glazed over as she fingered each and every one of them, no doubt reliving her golden baking days. She’d been trying to revive the era for some time now, what with the constant disposal of fresh recipes onto my lap every time she came home from work. I’d gotten to wondering what she really does at the office.

Her eyes settled on a particularly large piece, tastefully clad in black with cute dials and steel rungs and glass windows. It’s an impressive machine, and at the back of my mind I wished she would buy it. The price was worth about a third of my pay, but I know she would never settle for that. Haggling with the shop owner for ten minutes, she managed to move the price down to about a fifth of my pay.

I was marveling at her cool negotiating skills too, when she suddenly told me that it would actually come from my pay! (-_-)v

Haish…

I am no stranger to household financial responsibility. Frankly, I’d taken the family’s bread winner #3 position more seriously when I began my job stint a little over a year ago. In those days I’d help out with bills, groceries and other household amenities – internet, postpaid – whenever I can. I wasn’t free to do as I please with what cash I have, but I wasn’t completely bound to these duties either.

These days though, they were becoming more and more routine. I could only symbolize it as a mother’s pride at seeing her eldest daughter settled in her career (either that or marriage *shivers*). And the fact that I am now working in the same organization as she is makes it seem all the more heaven-sent.

Some would say that’s a good thing. Being my mother’s daughter certainly has its advantages. Besides, most of the senior officers at work knew me back when I was still in diapers (heck, my director has seen me naked!), so my joining the team was more a family affair than a new job. Of course, that didn’t mean I was free to do as I please. But it does make official procedures and other little administrative quirks go over much, much smoother.. *evil grin*

Despite that, my esteemed post came with heavy baggage in tow. I am my mother’s daughter after all, and that alone makes for juicy office scandal. I had filled one of only a handful of positions that were coveted by hundreds of other applicants – positions that were suspended pending a review – and of which, I was the only applicant to pass through. So, it’s only natural for people to assume I came into the post through my mother’s influences, seeing as she is a senior research officer.

For the record, this was not the case. In fact, my familial connection to the organization was only realized during the later stages of my application process. Ironically, it was my supervisor’s cunning influence that won me the job. She needed my help to start her DNA project, and couldn’t wait for the review board as her project deadline loomed near. Stating time as a crucial factor, she pushed for my immediate appointment to the post.

It would be three agonizing months before they would relent and give her what she wants. But they relented, which made me wonder of the kind of power and capabilities now presiding over my professional life. The power I deign to call my boss..

After my new job, my mum seemed visibly relaxed. She was a lot less worried about things, and I realized the kind of strain she must have endured since my father’s retirement two years ago. Since then she’d been the sole breadwinner with much to carry on her shoulders, and that burden was beginning to weigh her down considerably.

Still, she was never one to give up. In all that turmoil she remained patient of my father’s post-retirement ‘need to be free’ attitude, and of my siblings with their sometimes infantile behavior and gross academic roller-coasters and financial antics. For all that she has been through, my mum was definitely worthy of redemption.

I didn’t get to buy her the oven that day. But as the rest of the women file out towards the car, I leaned sideways over the payment counter, trying my best at a conspirational grin.

“Taukeh,” I whispered. “Lain kali wa datang mau angkat itu oven, lu kasi harga tadi la.. RM300, okeh?”