January 17, 2017

restaurant – garbs

I’ve always wanted to start my own restaurant someday, but I do not know when. I have been paying attention and taking notes though, on how I wanted my restaurant to be run. And it all comes from the bad experiences I had over the years.

One of the very first thing I’d like my restaurant to have, is the enforcement of uniform and hats. Why uniforms? Simple. I wanted the patrons to be able to tell apart the people who are suppose to serve them food and bring them the bill. Ask yourself, how many times have you mistakenly flagged some prick with a poor taste in fashion whom you thought was a server/waiter/waitress? Maybe it’s just a me thing so, fuck you. But if that has happened to you before, you know it’s quite embarrassing. And in some cases, may even be frustrating. I don’t want that to fucking happen.

Now the hat. It’s a straight forward no brainer thing. Humans shed hairs… like, all the fucking time. You wouldn’t believe how much hair you shed per day (I should know because unlike some of you loafers out there, I mop my own floor). And one of the worst thing that could happen to a restaurant, is to have hair in the food. I certainly don’t want to eat anything with some cocksucker’s hair in it! It only takes one hair to ruin the restaurant’s reputation and snow ball from there when a victim vents it out in the social fucking media. And to think of it, that this risk can be greatly reduced if everyone simply wears a fucking hat, makes it even more imperative to enforce this requirement.

I could add some LED’s on the uniform, or even the hat, so that everyone can spot a waiter from a javelin’s throw away. That’s how my waiters/waitresses are going to stand out in the restaurant, and no one will have a problem finding a waiter/waitress…

…to be continued…

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January 9, 2017

health check

When was the last time I had my ‘complete health check’? According to the records, never. Blood tests are not considered a ‘complete health check’. It’s just part of a ‘complete health check’. A ‘complete health check’ is apparently a subjective term. There’s no such thing as a complete health check (because it is impossible to check 100% of your whole body to ensure that you’re 100% healthy). But in the realms of the health care industry, a ‘complete health check’ comes in a package worth MYR1.5k, and I get it for free because I work for Company T.

That was why I went to get one back in December (again, my wife made me do it). Through the years working for Company T, never once I went for a ‘complete health check’ because I’ve always thought the whole thing is pure bollocks (I know could be wrong, so cut it out already).

Anyway, one of the tests that needed to be done was this stool collection. All you gotta do is give the lab guy your favorite stool (can be from Ikea or one of those cheap ass stools you bought from the local furniture shop, any color is fine) and get it back the next day. Kidding. A stool is your shit. They need to collect your shit to check if you’re healthy or something like that.

Now, this shit collection thing is something new for me. Prior the ‘complete health check’ day, I imagined that they’d give me a big plastic bag or something and I’d just shit inside it then pass the bag back to them. I’d of course parade the bag of shit across the bewildered crowd at the reception area before handing it over. The plastic bag better not leak I suppose, otherwise it’d be hilarious.

So… came the moment. Lab assistant, who was an old lady of 60 years old, was about to ask me to shit. But instead of a straightforward request, she gave me a concerned look. She said to me,

“I need to get your stool sample. I can understand if you want to come back the next day with the sample…”

I was like, what? That was strange.

“Why would I want to come back the next day?”

“To pass us the stool sample. You can do it when you’re convenient at home.”

“Why can’t I do it now? Like, I can just give it to you now…”

“You can do it now?”

“Why not?”

Apparently, constipation is a thing now amongst the people. She was surprised that I could just ‘give it to her’. Little did she know that I have an on/off switch in me like a McDonalds Chocolate Sundae machine (you can say that I’m just full of shit). By just flipping it, and out comes the Chocolate Sundae, any time of the day. You can dispense it in a cup or cone, doesn’t matter. But I was given this plastic container instead with a small plastic spoon in it.

“So I just scoop it up with this spoon? You only need just a small spoonful? Or do you want me to fill the container to the brim with the spoon?”

Old lady sheepishly answered she only needed a spoonful. I gave her more that day.

PS: My complete health check came back positive for ‘Extreme Tired-of-all-the-Bullshit at Work Syndrome’ (ETBWS) and ‘Chronic Laziness Syndrome’ (CLS), otherwise, I’m completely fine.

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December 30, 2016

2016 roll up

People have been saying 2016 is the year of the Death. Lots of people died. One of them was my father-in-law, he lost his battle to kidney failure after 1.5 years of battling it. But I wouldn’t blame it on the year. It wasn’t the year’s fault. If you would nominate a title for the year of the death, you people should read about the history of the World Wars, black death or even the era when Genghis Khan laid waste to half the world in his conquest for greatness.

Anyway, I’ve fulfilled one of my pledge this year to start travelling the world. It was a plan my wife and I hatched back when we were childless, only to get delayed by a conception of Regine (we had to cancel a trip back then, due to the pregnancy, I recall). So the plan was held up until my daughter is big enough to appreciate finer things in life, and it became a family thing. Our first trip was to South Korea a few years ago, and then again to Hong Kong as a second trial for my daughter. She passed with flying colors. This year, we decided to kickstart the whole thing at full speed – we went to Germany and hiked the Alps in June. Then we hiked somemore at Taiwan’s Taroko Gorge in December. We saw cities, people and cultures. We ate weird shit and we mingled with the locals. And we walked till we almost drop. And this is going to be a permanent thing. I hope I’m going to be around until I’m at least 60 years old, or too old to walk (which I hope by then, someone has invented an affordable exoskeleton suit for old people to hike/walk without tiring out).

My daughter Regine has turned 10 this year. She’s officially a teenager now. She started to get annoyed at shit, and before long (hopefully not soon), she’s going to have her period. Some of her friends have already started to bleed, and she’s currently worried about that. My wife has prepped her with sanitary pads in her school bag in preparation for a sudden doomsday since a few months ago. She’s also started to bitch about not having a cellphone, and demanded faster wifi access. Looks like my life has entered another stage with tougher boss-battles and more complex enemy A.I.

2017, going to need a better camera lens, and a better physique to walk the world. Still wanted a bike. I hope I don’t need a shrink (or a heart doctor) from having to deal too much with a teenage daughter with rampaging hormones.

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December 26, 2016

hairdressers 2

My perpetual search for a cheap haircut brought me to the neighborhood of Greenlane, a small seedy ‘salon’ (anything can be called a salon these days) near a marketplace which reminded me of the porcine housewife hairdresser at Batu Lanchang I liked many years back, who gave an awesome haircut. I shouldn’t have been this naive but, what the hell.

I should’ve guessed from the signs beforehand that it’s going to be bad. First of all, the patrons there comprised of only old hags – I should have made a u-turn to get the fuck out of there, but I didn’t. The salon owner was the sole worker there, and she specializes in setting up old people’s hair. But I had to go ask if she provides a haircut, which she ardently asked me to take a seat first while she gave one of the octogenarians there a ‘blow job’ (a blow dry with a hairdryer).

The second sign, was when she asked me to help her remove a stuck extension 3-pin-sockets – you know, one of those 1-plug-to-3-sockets that allows more devices to be plugged in to the same socket. The darn thing was stuck, and there hadn’t been any guy around to remove that for her. From what I reckoned, that place hadn’t seen a male DNA for months, and I was the chosen one. I was quick to notice that she was using a 2k watt hairdryer and the socket thing basically melted the fuck off in there because of that. This is a sign that the ‘salon’ wasn’t making enough money to add extra electrical sockets and she had to resort to buy some cheap ass extenders that just couldn’t take the kind of load. I should have made a beeline to the exit, but I didn’t. I stayed on to find out how deep does the rabbit hole goes.

The third sign, was when I saw her frantically searching for her hair clipper, and its extender, which was tightly wrapped in a plastic bag that hadn’t seen light for months. This was an ominous sign that no one ever goes there for a haircut. I should have fucking elbowed her in the pancreas and take a dash or dive through the exit door. But I didn’t. I sat on the hairdressing chair like a dolt, and let the fucking biddy rape my head with all her bullshit. The end result? Was this catastrophic haircut that made me look like a cross between Ringo Starr and some traditional Iban tribals. My IQ point immediate went down 10 points when I looked into the mirror and my daughter nearly disowned me. I wanted to yell at her but, I was too shocked to do anything, so I paid and immediately left to limit the damage.

I initially thought I could just wax up my hair, but it seemed obvious to me that I was definitely going to get my ass dished to me at work by anyone who sees me. So I decided to take another trip to my other regular hairdressing place at a hypermarket (which I regularly visit, read here) and requested for an emergency ‘fix’ from the tomboy hairdresser.

“So, where did you say you got this haircut again? An Indian barber shop?”
“Worse, it was a seedy salon at a marketplace ran by an old housewife…”
*snigger* “An old housewife… well, she didn’t cut you clean… it seems… You’re lucky this can still be fixed.”

And she recommended me to go G.I. with a ‘little bit of fringe to maintain some decent style’. It was the best she could do. And I had no choice but to go along with that. That’s why I fucking sport a G.I now and I fucking deserved it for being such a goddamn retard.

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December 23, 2016

BBQ pork bun

As I lean back on my seat, my ear angle gets into the wave path of BBQ Pork Bun’s rhetoric about his organization’s plan in Company T. His sharp voice stabs my drums, and I momentarily get jolted up from my zoned-out moment. I can see projectiles of his spit landing on the hot projector on the table, while the rest of the audience in the meeting room shift themselves uncomfortably in their seats in preparation for a long meeting ahead. It has been close to 25 minutes since he was given the 10 mins slot to talk, and from the look of his animated form, I reckon he won’t be stopping anytime soon.

BBQ Pork Bun has been one of the most-talked-about managers in Company T. He holds a very senior position and has a big group of people under his leadership. He is the next big star that is going to win the talent show. Unlike his prospects on paper, physically he isn’t very well endowed. He’s about as small/short as the size of a hemorrhoid in a midget’s ass, middle aged and is as ugly as fuck. Beady eyes, whisker-less square face and is afflicted with crop circle sized male pattern baldness. His forehead is so bald, that if there are sweat beads on his scalp and there’s a spotlight shining on them, it’s going to reflect glittering lights like a fucking disco ball. He looks as if God hates him.

But for what he lacks in looks and charm, he makes it all up with intelligence and sports. The fucker has a PhD in nuclear physics or something. There’s no opinion that he can’t retort. He volunteers to build robots for kids during his free time, and is as athletic as shit. On any normal office day, you wouldn’t have second guessed that this motherfucker could slam dunk or does a jumping smash in badminton. That’s why the management likes him heaps, because he can do everything. Like I said, he’s the next big star in Company T.

He is one of the very few people that I hate and respect at the same time. Hate him because he can’t stop being so damn annoying by being so good at everything and respect him for being so abled in spite of his disabilities. He should be a poster boy for all bully victims in the society. Motherfucking BBQ Pork Bun. There’s fucking 35 mins left to go, and I hope BBQ Pork Bun would stop talking already.

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