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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January 25, 2017

interns

When my boss told us a couple months back that we’ll be getting a bunch of interns at Company T, I imagined that they’d totally look like this:

“Oh yeah bebeh, life at work is going to be so swell.” Or so I thought.

My colleagues and I waited for like, forever, until they finally showed up, totally looking like this:

click ‘Read the rest of this entry’ to view it, caution is advised

Read the rest of this entry »

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January 24, 2017

Eddie the chef

Eddie has been pretty good at his new role as a chef. One day, a famous food critique made an appointment to pay the restaurant a visit for a review. Fueled by the prospects of free publicity, Bill the restaurant owner came up with an idea of serving an exotic dish as the main course… Eddie, is however, skeptical that it will work…

Eddie the Chef: “With all due respect, Bill… I don’t think it is a good idea to put something we’re not specialized in as the main course. We should stick to something realistic…”

Bill the Owner: “Like what? A cup of instant noodles? Bah! We need to take some risks in life, Eddie! This is the chance of a lifetime to make this place famous!”

Eddie: “If you have to put it that way, what can I say. But tell me, where the hell am I going to find a “bear’s paw”, let alone to cook up a good one?”

Bill: “Don’t worry, if there’s a will, there will be a way. Go check with those shady vendors at the market, they might have an idea where to look, if not supply one.”

Eddie: “Suit yourself, Bill. I’d suggest to plan out a contingency in case I can’t find a bear’s paw… Maybe one of our General Tso’s Chicken Rice…”

Bill: “There is no need for that, Eddie. Have some faith.”

Then come to a couple of days before the critique’s visit,
Eddie: “Bill, I can’t find a bear paw. We should do the chicken.”

Bill: “What do you mean? I have sent the menu to the critique that we’re going to make bear paws!”

Eddie: “What?? Why the hell did you do that?”

Bill: “That’s because I have faith in you, Eddie! Now go find me a fucking bear paw, and cook up a good one!”

Eddie: “I hope you have faith in the food critique too because he’s going to have nothing to eat that day. I quit”

And Eddie gave Bill the hardest kick to the groin, and jammed a fork into his shoulder blade…

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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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