I was doing a withdrawal at the ATM yesterday when suddenly a smartly dressed old man came right up to a machine next to mine. I took notice of him because he had this strong asshole aura around him. From the first look of his attire, I reckoned that he must be either a vice president or a director from a nearby corporation. A ‘winner’ in the society. Like, who else wears a long sleeved shirt in the middle of a hot sweltering afternoon? Either a salesman or top management people like him. (and he’s too frigging old to be a salesman)

Old man looks very focussed. He was completely oblivious to everything that was happening around him. He looked like he was cracking his head thinking about some serious work stuff, but his body was in ‘autopilot’ mode - probably a routine which he had been through for so many years that he only requires half of his brain to get them going. And that was where the problem started.

You see, he was using only half of his brain, maybe less… to run his errands. The rest of the resources? Used up by some other important tasks. That was why he didn’t realize that the machine he was trying to use was out-of-order. There’s a sign on the screen of the auto-teller machine telling everyone that. I took a snap of the sign with my phone :

sorry for the poor quality. I was doing a walk-by shooting with my phone

As you can see, it was a big ass sign. But old man’s half working brain failed to detect that sign. It was somehow beyond what his half brain power could process. Without suspecting anything, he shoved his card into the machine and the damn thing started to blink like mad. And when he was about to key-in his pin number, then WHAM! His brain bitch-slapped a fatal exception error screen across his vision and he started to panic. MACHINE NOT WORKING MACHINE NOT WORKING!!! He started to clap his hands repeatedly with a wide eyed expression (it was a rather odd reaction… I have to admit)

“SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!” - I could hear him cuss at himself under his breath.

Then he started to frantically press the buttons on the ATM, probably hoping that it’ll explode inside and spit out his precious card. Miraculously, it actually worked. The machine spat out his card (it didn’t explode if you’re wondering…) and he quickly grabbed it like what he’d do to a tit after being released from a 20 year jail term. He’d stand there for like 10 or so seconds, apparently unable to believe how screwed up it was of him for failing to see that sign. Man, what if the sign was not a harmless plastic, but a rampaging mad man wielding a cleaver? He’d have been minced to pieces like a pig inside a slaughterhouse. What the fuck indeed.

It was then a young lad holding a helmet walked pass where he was standing and saw him pausing there like a stump, and gave him this weird look. Quick thinking old man noticed that, and in a split second, thought of an excuse to redeem his self esteem by thinking out-of-the-box, like what he had uttered millions of times to the bevy of employees under his leadership, and said to the young lad…

“This is not right. They should have covered the card feeder instead… so that people won’t accidentally shove in their card to this defective machine…” [shook his head like a really smart champ]

I was compelled to chide the man “CAN’T YOU FUCKING SEE THE BIG ASS SIGN THERE TELLING YOU IT’S OUT OF ORDER, MORON??”, but then, I didn’t. That’s because Penang is such a small place. Who knows… one day this motherfucker might become my boss or something. I chose not to provoke him…

I want to relate about an incident I encountered yesterday. But before I do that, I’d need you to peruse the following picture.

What you saw up there was a potpourri food counter located at Carrefour foodcourt. It was run by a Malay bloke and 2 ladies - whom I presume must be his wife and mother-in-law. The food counter was kind of square in shape… and it had different types of food displayed at each side.

Alright ya’ll… now that we’ve covered the essentials, we shall proceed with the story.

I had just finished my lunch and was standing at location “A”. I intended to buy a glass of ice blended coffee (which was inside that blue auto-stirring container), but there wasn’t anyone around to take my order. So I strode a little to the right and saw the older lady standing behind the pasembur display.

I gestured to the old lady - ‘Can you get me a glass of this?’, pointing at the ice-blended coffee machine.

Old lady gestured back, she can’t.

For what reason? I don’t frigging know. But she did alert the younger lady server there, which then, I also gestured to ask - ‘Can you get me a glass of this?’, again, pointing at the ice-blended coffee in the machine. I was expecting her… like… you know, to come over to fucking pour me my ice-blended coffee already? But she wouldn’t.

Instead, she gestured me to go over towards where she was standing - at location “B” - right in front of the cash register.

I gestured - ‘I want this coffee, not you’. She then yelled “Pay first!” in Malay. I was like, what the fuck? Man why can’t she haul her ass over to get my order right and I’ll pay at the register after that? I was literally choking with the dry fried chicken skin that I had for lunch earlier and I needed something to wash it down pronto. Since I just fucking want my coffee and did not want to make an issue out of it, I complied to her request without kicking a fuss.

Over at location “B”, the Malay bloke was behind the counter. Next to him, was that fucking bitch (fitch) that yelled “Pay first!”. Malay bloke then asked me with an expressionless look : “May I help you?”. (Quite ironically, at the time when the Malay bloke was asking that question, the fitch ambled to location “A”, which she refused to go earlier).

I answered, “I’d like to have a glass of that ice-blended coffee THERE” [pointed at location "A" with a little hint of sarcasm in it]

Malay bloke punched some keys on the register and said “That’ll be 2.63 please”. I paid and then he hollered across the floor to fitch who was waiting right beside the ice-blended coffee machine at location “A” -

“ONE ICE-BLENDED COFFEE!”

Fitch demodulated the soundwave sent by her stolid husband and converted it into action - she dispensed out my ice-blended coffee into a disposable plastic glass and I finally got the fucking coffee to flush away the chicken skin lodged inside my throat.

o__O”

Seriously, it still escapes me why would she (or they) require me to have my order taken through proxy (her fucking husband)? Like I said, she could have just have my order taken directly at location “A”, and while she prepares my takeaway, I could have gone to pay for the goddamn coffee… Why is it so fucking hard for them to figure that out? Sheesh.

When I was a kid, I used to follow my mom to a market food court to have my breakfast. My mom together with her cronies, would hang out there for hours catching up with gossips and shits, and I would kill time by wandering off on my own after my meal… usually patronising the nearby video arcade center and occasionally, played with the hawkers’ kids.

One day, while I was doing my usual round of loitering around the area, somebody called out for me. It was an unusual Indian fellow in a faded orange robe of somekind. I first thought he was a Buddhist monk or something, but then he had this afro hairdo that kinda nulled the idea. So I didn’t really know who he was or what he wanted. He just flagged me to come over to him, like this

“Come kid, come come” [it was uttered in English]

I was freaked out of course - having heard countless of stories from my mom about sick people duping off children into dark alleys to rape them. And this guy, fitted exactly the profile of what my prepubescent mind could imagine, of how a prolific pedophile would look like. Afro do, a robe (easier to whip out his prick) and dark skinned (no offense people, we oldskool children were brought up to believe that dark skinned people are dangerous - due to the fact that a lot crimes in the neighbourhood were committed by dark skinned drug addicts back then…)

I just pretended I didn’t hear him and attempted to walk away. But this guy, he caught up to me and grabbed my arms, then said

“Don’t be scared kid, I just want you to help that poor kitten that fell into that drain there…”

He then pointed out into a drain nearby. I peered into it and indeed, there was a cat inside, clinging onto the walls inside the drain struggling against the swift flowing current. But I was still freaked out, because for some reason, I felt something not right about him. Maybe because he still didn’t let go of my arms…

With an agitated look, I retorted back to him

“Errmmm, what if I refuse to help that cat?”

“Then you’d be doing a very bad thing. The cat will die because of you.”

It wasn’t verbatim, but he did include a lot of zen shits that I couldn’t understand. But my mind was very clear at that time, and I know how to differentiate between bullshits and what nots.

The thing was, I don’t feel like taking the trouble to go down into the filthy drain to save that darn cat. I was thinking - if that cat was stupid enough to jump into a big ass drain, then it should probably fucking die. Stray cats are suppose to be streetsmart. We can’t be saving cats’ asses all the time. If we do that, how are they ever gonna learn, right? That’s why I decided not to save the cat and said to PedoMonk rather bluntly :

“If you’re so wise and kind-hearted, then why don’t you jump into that drain to rescue the cat yourself? Why has it got to be me?”

He got flipped out and squeezed my arm hard,

“Hey! You want me to throw you into the drain or do you want to go in there by yourself??”

I got really freaked and had no choice. I was being held by the edge of the big ass drain and the situation looked ominous enough for me to freak out. It wouldn’t be wise for me to resist yielding to what he wanted. Things suddenly doesn’t seem that bad after all when compared to the picture of myself being thrown like a ragdoll into that drain. So, I finally went in there and rescued the fucking cat from being flushed into the ocean.

The drain water was nasty. I got my feet all wet with greasy and stinking water, and my hands smelled like a rat’s skin. Once I got out from the drain, I immediately distanced myself from that motherfucker monk and was about to cuss him, when he smiled and thanked me. He then reached inside his robe, took out a card and beckoned me to take it. It was a card with the picture of another robed dude with afro hairstyle. He then bowed to me and took his leave. Holding the card and still feeling pissed (and scared), I watched him walk to the distance, wondering if I should tail him to his car and fling him a brick or something. I eventually didn’t. Instead, I went to wash myself up and walked back to my mom’s gossiping troupe, all the way thinking about the whole incident - unsure if I should feel proud about myself for saving the life of an extremely stupid cat… or if I should feel extremely stupid, for interfering the urban ecosystem of a stray animal. I threw the card away before I got to my mom.

(I later learned that the afro guy depicted on the card turned out to be Sathya Sai Baba. I would have appreciated the card more had it been Optimus Prime that was on the card…).

Have you ever had a hunch that something bad will happen… and it really fucking happened? Well, that happened to me. I mean, not something bad but, the whole deal of having a hunch thing. Almost paranormal, but not yet. (if you’re wondering if I saw an ET like Elliot, no I did not)

I was driving Regine and Emily back to my in-law’s at Perak the other day, and was compelled to keep myself within the speed limit - you know, fatherly obligation… that kind of shit. But that wasn’t the ‘hunch thing’ yet. The ‘hunch thing’ only came somewhere near the straights at Bukit Merah - when I saw this small truck doing an average speed on the inner lane.

At one glance, there was nothing wrong with that truck. The second glance, nothing wrong either. It just looked like another regular truck minding its own business. It wouldn’t have made anyone suspicious of anything. But right there and then, I had that ‘hunch thing’, like something super fucking bad will happen if I overtake that truck. So I subconsciously slowed down… and looked on if I was right or something.

About a few seconds later, it happened. The truck suddenly made a 45 degree diagonal maneuver and headed straight towards the divider on the express lane. I went like “OH MY FUCKING GODDDD THAT TRUCK’S GONNA CRASH!!”. And crash it did. The truck then grated its side against the divider, spraying the road with debris and all. The first thing that crossed my mind, was that the driver might have suffered a heart attack and went kamikaze into the steel divider. But that suspicion was quickly dismissed when the truck somehow managed to swerve back into the inner lane after chafing the divider for about 50 meters, and drove on like nothing happened. So it had to be only one thing - falling asleep behind the wheel. And I was right about that - confirmed it when I later overtook the truck and saw that horrifying sight - a drowsy driver with swollen eyes and drooping head almost touching the steering wheel. Goddamn!

I was thinking, had it not been that ‘hunch thing’, I probably would have crashed into that motherfucker. And it would have been worse if I had sped. (I normally would do 130 - 150kph before Regine (BR)). The thought of the possibilities alone would make my bunghole pucker. Sheesh.

So people, lesson learnt here - Always be aware of your surroundings when you’re driving, especially on straight boring highways. People may just fall asleep and ruin your shit out of the blues, without you even realizing it. It doesn’t matter if you drive the safest car around. Once you speed and crash into the back of a truck, the result’s always the same - you’re fucked. I was lucky to have that hunch and ended up with a close shave instead of an accident. But not all people are as lucky as me all the time. You’ve got to just take care.

I had a showdown with a ‘road bully’ yesterday. A middle aged Indian taxi driver, to be exact. I was making a turn into Company X carpark when this taxi swerved out of its stationary position and almost collided with my car. I reflexed with honk (as always) and glowered at him (also gave him a ‘palm’ sign…). But instead of being apologetic about his mistake, the Indian driver gesticulated back… as if I was the one who did wrong. Pissed, I responded by stopping my car and we exchanged a few signs - but no confrontation, yet.

So I went on with my way back to the building after that… when I saw that Indian taxi driver again. He stopped his taxi near the factory entrance, and appeared to be scoping for my appearance. Having had experiences with a lot of ‘unstable’ types of people before, I jotted down his car registration number on my palm… you know, just in case anything bad were to happen. Indian guy saw me doing that and flagged me over to his car. Apparently, he didn’t like what he saw and chose to confront me instead:

[conversation was actually in both Malay and English, but for convenience' sake, I'm going to put it all in English]

Indian guy: “Why did you copy down my car registration number??”

Me: “Why not?”

Indian guy: “No… I was asking, why did you copy down my car registration number??”

He obviously didn’t hear what I said, or he’s just too plain dumb to understand it.

Me: “I can copy down anything I want. Even a bull cart’s number if I like. So why not?”

Indian guy: [sniggers] “Alright, alright, go ahead and copy it as you wish” [chuckles]

Me: “Already done that.”

Not wanting the whole thing to end just there, I threw him a very shallow insult

Me: “Say… do you really know how to drive? Do you even have a driving licence? I was wondering…”

He caught it.

Indian guy: “Hey! Watch what you’re saying, ok??”

Me: “In case you didn’t realize, you almost hit my car just now. You call that good driving?”

Indian guy: “What? It wasn’t even close! You think I’m blind or something?? I was just waiting for my passenger bla bla bla and was bla bla bla…”

Me: “Yes I did think you’re blind.”

At that moment, he started to speak in a very harsh tone. Like he’s trying to intimidate me or something.

Indian guy: “You’re the one who was paranoid… honking and giving me that nasty look!”

Me: “Why… can’t I do that?”

Indian guy: “Did I wreck your car?? No, right??”

Me: “Oh, so I can honk and give you a nasty look ONLY WHEN you wreck my car? What are you stupid or something?”

Indian guy: “Ma cheebye you!! What did you say???”

[I don't know why he had to use a Hokkien dialect to vent his anger at me. As if being able to hurl expletives in Hokkien would make him sound more coherent and therefore, justify his fucked up behaviour. Hhyeah right.]

Then he got out of his car. Acting so very tough like that. But that’s not what I really want. It’s no glory to beat up a short old man. Besides, I might lose my job for doing that.

Me: “So you’re suppose to be tough huh? Good. Let’s see how tough you are with our security guards.”

Indian guy: “Go lah! You think I’m scared??”

Me: “You bet I am going to. Just stay where you are. And don’t go away”

Indian guy: “What can you do to me?? You think I’m stupid aa? Bla bla bla bla ” [inaudible voice as I was walking away to the security post]

Me: “Of course I think you’re stupid! If you’re not stupid, then you wouldn’t have been a taxi driver in the first place.”

If he’s smart or intelligent, he would be preaching some quantum physics theory at a university somewhere, instead of driving a junk around like a motherfucking prick, you know what I’m saying?

And he continued to wave his fist in the air and taunted me but I only responded to his pathetic attempt of heroism with couple retort in his native Tamil language - “Phordahhh!!!” (which meant “Fuck off!” or something)… and it got him madder. (It was fun watching him go apeshit)

I expected him to sustain that identity of a tough Hindustan hero, you know… to hold his stance until his 62% evil adversary return with his villain reinforcements (security guards), but I was wrong. Instead of that, he made a beeline into his taxi (he was more like diving into it) and sped off like a bat flying out of hell. I’ve never seen anyone disappear so fucking fast before.

I stood there dumbfounded and went “Hey! What the fuck?? Where did the tough guy go?”. Tough guy my ass.

But I went to report the incident to the security nevertheless, and got his registration number recorded down. I actually requested to get the taxi company blacklisted from our corporate list, but apparently, the decision has to involve somebody at the ‘higher level’… if you know what I mean. There’s nothing that our security department can do other than giving that chicken ass loser a verbal warning…

Whatever lah.