I think I just got in a fight with the Speaker of Parliament

Small towns have one thing in common: they’re small. This can have positive benefits sometimes because everyone knows everyone and their bidness, but can also suck because everyone knows everyone and their bidness. And has an opinion about it all. The same rules apply to small countries.

I learned something about our small town today: I didn’t get the right memo.

One memo I did get, however, was regarding our procurement processes. I messed up procurement processes almost as if I was trying (hard) at it in my last job, so this time I paid a bit more attention during orientation. So once I had the go ahead to plan a workshop for early November, I knew that I needed to get more than one quote from potential venues (despite the fact that I already knew clearly which one I pictured myself at for an entire week and would therefore devise  perfectly reasonable explanations for choosing once we got to the selection process).

I got my preferred location on the phone first, crunched some of the numbers and requested a written quotation, which should arrive at our office any day now.

Then I called the second, and spoke to a pleasant gentleman who told me prices so I could compare and said they would also prepare a quote. Then he called back a few minutes later with some follow up questions. Then a few moments after that I got another call, this time from a different man who kinda barked down the phone at me and eventually said the name of the lodge and that he was the owner so I was able to clue in to what was going on. He told me I had to send a letter with what we wanted, which to me seemed like a lot of work for everyone involved particularly since I was hoping to go somewhere else. He then said something about sending it to Parliament, which was confusing and made me mentally question whether I heard him right, but he barged on and I was soon suggesting that he give me an email address or that he take mine. “No, I’m not emailing you, you have to get in contact with me”. I resisted the urge to tell him that I already had, as I had called his lodge, or to question his commitment to customer service. I suggested that he take down the details on the phone so that he could avoid having to pick up a letter only to return later with the quotation. He started to take down some details but it must have gotten too secretarial for him as he simply said that ‘this is why I want it in a letter’ and then gave me two phone numbers. “But sir,  how will I get the letter to you?”. And he explained that I was to prepare the letter, call to advise it was ready, and he would send someone to pick it up, which I felt was a waste but I kept that to myself. Then he ranted about how we always call for quotes but never go there with our business for a little bit then said something I couldn’t understand and slammed down the phone.

I called back. “Sir, I think we got disconnected. I didn’t understand the last things you were saying.” And he ranted a bit more. “Would you prefer not to provide a quote then?”. But he said he would do it and I said that he could send someone at any time to pick up the letter at any point because I would prepare it as soon as we were off the phone.

I’m pretty sure that the phone was at least half way between his ear and wherever it lays to rest as I said “ok thanks, goodbye”.

I honestly sat there for a moment wondering how the conversation had gone so terribly, terribly wrong.

My housemate got home not too long ago from work and I told her about my day. “The owner of that lodge is the Speaker of Parliament. He’s big in the Solomon Islands. Anyone who has been here for a long time would know his name and that he owns that lodge, but you’re new so how could you have known? He probably expects that everyone will know who he is.”

Tomorrow I get to tell our Country Director that I unintentionally pissed off one of the most powerful dudes in the country.

Oops.