March 16, 2017

anneh cashier 2

I stumbled into the same anneh cashier again today at Company T cafeteria.

Cashier: *punch punch punch register* “That’ll be RM2.70 please.”

Me: *tendered RM3*

Cashier: *Gives back RM0.70*

Me: *looks at anneh cashier, palm with coins still holding out for him to see…*

Cashier: *looks back at me with WTF look*

Me: *looks at my palm with the 70 cents*

Cashier: *looks at my palm with 70 cents, still clueless*

I had to give him the audio feedback…

Me: “Friend, the amount was RM2.70… I gave you RM3.00… how much change should you give me back?”

Cashier: *still clueless*

Me: “30 cents! Right?”

Cashier: “Oh yaya sorry sorry”

Ohne savadi keporleh…

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March 13, 2017

anneh cashier

Company T cafeteria, where all shit converge and dumbasses collide. It was lunch time, and I was served by this young Indian guy cashier who looked like he wanted to be a nail salon operator when he grew up.

Cashier: *punch punch punch register* “That’ll be RM6.50 please.”

Me: “The cafe owes me 80 cents from the breakfast this morning. Can you please deduct?”

Cashier: “So I just minus 80 cents from your total, right?” *wobbles his head*

Me: “That’s right.”

Cashier: *punch punch punch register* “That’ll be RM7.30 please.”

Me: “No no… you’re supposed to minus, not add. The cafe owes me, not the other way round.”

Cashier: “Oh, I’m sorry…” *punch punch punch register* “That’ll be RM7.30 please.”

Me: [WTFBBQ!] “Are you for real?? What did I just told you!?”

The cashier guy was startled, because he did not expect that reaction from me, and he started to say something incoherent…

Cashier: “Ermm… I’m sorry… where did you get that piece of chicken? From the front?”

Me: “Yes from the front. But what has that got to do with this??”

He fiddled the register for a short moment, and then he said this:

Cashier: “Sorry, it should be RM5.30″

And that’s still the wrong amount. I gave the dolt RM6 to be done with and he gave me back the RM1. o__O”

I’m pretty sure he didn’t inherit the chettiar genes from his ancestors…

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March 5, 2017

school nowadays – hairstyle

I don’t know if this is confined to only Penang but, I noticed that some vernacular schools have been enforcing this shit rule of needing male students to have the ‘prison inmate’ hairstyle. You know, just about an inch long, and can never be skinhead bald. The girls on the other hand, are required to have the He-Man hairstyle. Not that it’s bad for the girls but, what if one of the girls wanted a boy-cut? Uh uh, not allowed. As a result of that, you’d have a hard time discerning them students apart (unless if one of them is super fucking fat like that), reinforcing the age old belief by the Westerners that we Chinese look all the fucking same!

So what sort of a stupid shit is this, really? Only vernacular Chinese schools *facepalm*. Are the Chinese educators in Malaysia really that retarded? What is that suppose to teach them young people? How to be disciplined? By having a prison inmate / He-man hairstyle? Really? You gotta be shitting me.

I say, that’s just a low cost (but otherwise effective) and lame ass method to save them school authorities some manpower to enforce discipline amongst the kids. When everyone looks uniformed, it’s easy to spot the odd ones out. It’s brilliant if you think about it. But that’s not going to be good for the psyche of them kids. In a way, they’ve also made them kids into an army of drones, outlook wise. There will be no such thing as individualism. They’re to be what they’re molded to be, in their state of mind, and grow up to be mindless fucks, totally void of opinions. If the blacks were to be like this, there wouldn’t have been any civil rights movements in the history of mankind, and they’d still be slaves to this date.

So why are we Chinese people in Malaysia teaching our students to be like this? Escapes me man. Looks like the infamous Chinese ed rote learning has sunken to a new low. This is totally against what the society is striving to achieve – living in diversity (which in its current pathetic state, it still needs to go a bit of a distance before it sees light). And these neanderthals are teaching them kids to go and regress the other way. Fuckety fuck.

If you were to ask me, I’d say we should let them kids keep their own hairstyle. Let them be who they are. And then we teach them how to accept everyone as who they are. Teach them how to love themselves, and not to be who they’re not. We have enough suicide cases, we do not need more of them chasing impossible dreams and think they do not meet a silly expectation set by their moronic parents. They need to get out of the mindset and tackle the world like their own way. Teach them how to get up when they fall. Get them to embrace individualism and think for themselves. If they have long messy hair, fine – set up workshops to teach them how to groom themselves up. How to keep clean, be hygienic and shit. Hell, throw in some survival lessons like how to change a spare tire or cut up an animal for food. They’re more useful that way. We know these kids aren’t going to grow up keeping the same prison-inmate hairstyle all their lives (unless they have male pattern baldness problem)… so why impose? Why not let them do it their own way, the right way? Again, escapes me.

That’s why I didn’t want to send my daughter to a vernacular school. I do not want her to be taught how to be a racist and bigoted person that follows the direction someone orders her to go. I want her to do it her way, and live life to the fullest. I want her to have Indian, Malay, gothic, gay, straight and all kinds of friends. I want her to have an opinion, and grow up to be someone who is responsible, loves herself and who isn’t afraid of challenges. She’s going to fucking die knowing that she did nothing she has regretted about and she’d live her life again the same way. That, is the wealth she’s going to inherit from me. (sorry, no money. I am hell bent of spending them all before I die).

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February 20, 2017

GRAB/Uber drivers

I’ve met some of the fuckest GRAB/Uber fucks in my ride hailing experience…

1) Malay fuck who refused to use a phone holder or a map.
It was Uber. I wanted to go to the airport. The fucktard showed up on my map tracker near my pick-up point making no less than 5 u-turns around the area. I had to message the guy the street name twice (which was already stated as the pick up location), and in the end, I had to call the guy up and issued him turn-by-turn direction. He told me he was confused with the roads (that was because he wasn’t using a map). When he finally showed up, it was an Alza that was modified like it was to be burnt as an offering to some Ah Beng undeads. The trunk was full of junk, and I could only fit in 1 luggage bag (I had 2 of them). Through the entire journey to the airport, the fucker would text and hold his phone with his bare hands, and NO MAPS. I gave him a 1 star rating. I prayed to the devil for his car to explode after we left.

2) Indian fart whose car stinks to high heaven.
It was GRAB. I hailed it from Company T on a Friday noon to go to lunch. I nearly lost my appetite for lunch because the car smelled like it was filled with urinal cakes. It had festoons of flowers hanging on the rear view mirror, partially blocking the driver’s view. He drove like he was gonna get a head from his flat’s janitor if he wears his brake pads faster than he could wear off his transmission gears. He’d do short bursts of accelerations and fuckloads of brakings. Coupled with the urinal cake stench, and 350 bps loud ass Indian fighting songs, I was at the verge of regurgitating my breakfast in his car on my lunch break. I didn’t give the Indian fucker a star, he deserved none. (But he’d get that head soon from his janitor)

3) Housewife who made up her sleep time on the wheels.
It was GRAB. Hailed from a hotel lobby, but she went to the wrong hotel (illiterate?). After a few phone calls, housewife showed up with a tiny car. She whipped out a book and asked me the details of my destination like I was being interviewed. Where is it? What is the district called? How do we go there from here? I told her to use the map on her goddamn phone. She wrote something in her journal, set map and griped about the journey (it was about an hour’s ride away). Halfway through the expressway, housewife fucking nodded off and was in between her consciousness, drifting across lanes and back. I only realized she was nodding off when I noticed the drifting (I was trying to avoid eye contact lest she’d engage in an awkward conversation). I feigned a lot of throat irritation noises to keep her awake (I didn’t want to talk to her). She dropped me off on the wrong street. I fucking gave her no stars. I hope she gets constipated.

4) Fat girl whose phone gave up on her
It was GRAB. Wanted to go from Klang to Lot 10. Hailed and immediately got a message that she needed to refuel before picking me at my location. I agreed because I’m a reasonably considerate motherfucker. Her location didn’t change on the map for 15 mins, and suddenly showed up (her GPS was not working – bad omen). She was talking to herself when she drove, had sequins decorated over her windows and her phone had – from what I noticed at first – topographic patterns on the screen, but I eventually realized those were crack marks all over the screen. Her phone kept giving this weird tone, which indicated charge/discharge connection issue from the 12v phone charger. She fumbled around and reinserted the cable for a few times. Then wham! phone went offline. She fumbled for a bag, whipped out another 12v charger, didn’t work (she was doing about 70kph on the freeway with half her attention focused on fixing the goddamn phone). She then used a power bank, didn’t work either. Her phone’s dead, and she’s offline permanently. She then turned to me and asked – “do you have a preferred route? or do you want to just follow wherever I go?”. I gave her a ‘what the fuck’s that supposed to mean’ look, fired up my Waze on my phone and offered her a handheld map service for 40 mins.

5) Mat Rempit who skimps on his air con
It was GRAB again. Wanted to go to the airport with colleagues. This Mat Rempit lookalike with gay mustache and Village People shades showed up with a warm car in the hot afternoon. When colleagues complained, I cranked up the air conditioner myself, only to be stinky eyed by the driver for touching his car – probably reminded him of the days he got uncomfortably felt up by the newspaper man when his dad was away. He turned the air con back down after about 5 mins, and it was sauna in his tiny, shaky car. It was so hot in there, that my ass sweated and my sweat permeated into his fabric seat. I hope his car smells like my ass for eternity. Fucking cibai. I didn’t give him any star.

6) Creepy tomboy who was too fake.
It was UBER. From the driver profile, the name was Jimmy. When the car showed up, it was a girl with crew cut and boyish garbs (a tomboy). Tomboy looked serious and angsty, but her car audio was playing chicken ass Chinese love songs. Halfway through the drive, tomboy started convulsing violently and she took out a dildo and started flailing it at me and her head turned 360 degrees with white pupils looking totally like Evil Dead trying to eat Bruce Campbell’s ass. Alright I made that up… it’s a fucking tomboy, I fucking hate tomboys. There’s nothing to say about tomboys except that they’re posers and they don’t have dicks and they drive like shit and they have hot dyke girlfriends.

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February 12, 2017

goal in life

Every Saturday morning, I would follow my wife to the market to buy some stuff for the week after dropping off my daughter for her extra class.

We’d frequent this vegetable stall, run by a couple in their 60s. Not only their produce are fresh, but they charge very reasonably. But the most important thing of all that makes us always go back to the stall – is the vibe.

You see, the old man, is a different kind of vegetable seller. He’s a guy who enjoys what he is doing – selling vegetables. It’s his fucking mojo. Every time I see him, he’s always jovial. He speaks loudly and clearly. He loves to crack jokes. He dispenses advice about the goodness of his merchandise like he made them himself. But then he also dispenses bullshit nonsense just to keep everyone entertained. He teases his wife, his fellow market colleagues and he teases his customers as well. Everyone seems to be happier when he’s around. He’s like a beacon in the sad dark place.

He also can speak better English than some of the managers I’ve met at Company T, and good BeeEm too. Communication is his strong trait. That’s why he gets all kinds of customers, Indians, Malays, Chinese, because everyone feels confident buying vegetables from him. There was once, we got a bag of vegetables with some pests in it, we got refunded with no questions asked. We also get freebies all the time, and the couple always welcome everyone with a laugh/smile. If there were to be an employee of the month contest going in the market, he’d win 12 times a year hands down.

So, after watching this guy for years, I begin to wonder myself – how many people actually get to enjoy their jobs like this old vegetable seller does? Not many, I reckon. Not even myself. I have not enjoyed a single shit I do since a long time ago. The best time I had, was when I worked at an advertisement workshop in Georgetown. That was the only time that made me look forward to the next working day, every day. I’d fool around with my equally foolish colleagues, and I’d crack jokes to cheer everyone up. I was poor as fuck, but I was a much happier person.

Seeing the vegetable seller living his life like this, I couldn’t help but feel envious of him and his wife – for not many people get that kind of privilege to be able to both enjoy and making a living at the same time. I am now re-evaluating everything I do, and my new goal in life is to be like this vegetable seller. I want to be able to enjoy every shit I do, and savor the remnants of what left in my time on this planet as a happier person.

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