So who’s got the real smarts?

One of the things that the city of Cambridge is well known for is its academia. In other words, it’s full of really, really smart people. And many of these really, really smart people were really, really rich. Unfortunately for me, I was neither.

One of the things that always fascinated me, and still does to this day, is the lack of common sense, among these boffins. Working at the hotel gave me the wonderful opportunity of coming into contact with some of these people.

Often I didn’t know whether to laugh or to shake my head in despair at them. Sometimes I did both. I recall this one recruitment held at the hotel. It was for computer programmers and the rest of their ilk. The company that had organised it was very demanding and kept me and my team busy.

I was fascinated by how young the people coming in were. Mind you, it is a young person’s industry. And the salary they were offering was astounding to me. A basic programmer was being offered £24,000 a year, and that was on the lower scale. At that point I was earning £13,500 a year. Yes, yes they were all grads, and I wasn’t.

So there I was surrounded by all these brainiacs. I remember leaning tiredly against a wall, when one of them came up to me and asked, “Excuse me, where are the toilets please?” What was so amazing about this was that my head was next to the sign that said “Toilets”, with an arrow pointing the way. It was like two inches away from my head.

Being the ever so helpful chap that I am, I told the young man how to get to there… the really long way around. I was still giggling like a schoolgirl to myself when another one came up and asked me the same question!

I soon got bored of this game after the 15th one asked for directions. Brains aplenty, use of eyes and awareness of surroundings, none. However, there were some who went up in my estimation.

These companies always put on a buffet, with canned drinks included. Some of the smarter ones would load their backpacks up with drinks and whatever food they could get in there. The companies soon wised up. Minimal food and only cordial was soon the order of the day.

Thank god I was working with “real people.” We depended on each other to take the edge off dealing with the strange, surreal people that we so often came in contact with.

Charles and I would often sit in our local pub and swap tales and laughs about our day and the people we met. It was dead handy having the pub about a minute’s walk away from the hotel. Pretty much all the staff used to pop in at some point after their shifts for a quick drink and to unwind.

There was a fascinating chap who was one of the regulars there. As far as anyone knew, he had been a university don who had blown a gasket and turned to mind-numbing drugs. His clothes were worn, but always clean and pressed.

No one knew where he got the money to survive, let alone drink, but he was never short of cash. He spoke really well, unfortunately mostly to himself. He never caused any trouble, and when the arguments with himself got too loud, we would just shout at him to shut up, and he would.

And then there was the chap who walked around with a suit on and an assortment of head gear. A fish (real one), lampshade, book. All tied on with string. Ah Cambridge! I loved it then and miss it deeply now.

Reuben spent many years whoring in the F&B industry in the UK, but now calls Kuala Lumpur home. He hopes that a transporting device, such as those used in "Star Trek", will be invented in his lifetime because he is sick of taking the train everywhere. He has no friends, and hopes that this column will encourage people to get in touch with him, even if it is to just hurl abuse.