Archive for the ‘experiences’ Category

July 28, 2008

déjà vu

I was at Mac’s to grab a quick lunch today. A guy who looked like an overweight wookie was taking my order…

fat wookie: “Good afternoon sir, how may I help you?”

Me : “BigMac McValue set. Large. Having here. That’s all.”

After all the fuck ups I had with so many degenerates at various fast food outlets, I tend to cut my crap short nowadays. Life has been fine since, because it is always pleasant to do business with me. Well, except for this fat fucking wookie here. Apparently, he didn’t hear my ‘size’ well…

fat wookie:”Would you like a medium or large set, sir?”

Me: “Errmm… large, please.”

fat wookie: “Medium or large, sir?”

Me: “large.”

fat wookie: “Would you like a medium or large set, sir?”

That was when I got really annoyed.

Me: “Large. LARGE. That’s what I said, right?? LARGE! Is there any other way for me to say it??”

A sense of déjà vu immediately came over me. I’ve had this once. The chocolate sundae incident at Mac’s, remember?

Fucking interns. They can be such an annoying fuck sometimes.

michaelooi  | experiences  | 8 Comments
June 27, 2008

road raging madman – police report

[continued from here…]
Because we were worried that Ah Beng could be someone more than just a common ruffian, like a loan shark or something, we decided to lodge a police report just to be safe. So after speeding off from the last spot of altercation, we made a beeline to the nearest police station.

There were 2 police officers in the police station that we went to. One was a policewoman who looked like she just had the wildest party the night before, and another middle age bloke with a pot belly as big as an NGV tank.

[conveniently translated to English from Malay]
“I’d like to lodge a police report about a road rage incident.” – I said.

The lady was the one who seemed to be taking interest so, I presumed she was the one who would be taking my statement. So I started my story from the point of the bumper collision, to how Ah Beng went apeshit after I confronted him verbally. But before I managed to continue further, the policewoman cut me off,

Policewoman: “The accident, did it happen before the center of the bridge, or after the center of the bridge?”

Me: “It was before we even enter the bridge, right at the toll entry…”

Policewoman: “In that case, you will have to lodge your police report at the mainland. It is out of our jurisdiction if the accident happened on the mainland.”

For those who do not know what is happening here, the Penang island is linked by a 13 odd kilometers bridge from the mainland. Though both the mainland and island are in the same state, the police force is somehow divided over territories… (so I learned). In my case, things got complicated for the policewoman there when she found out that I had an accident on the mainland and got into some trouble with that nutcase on the island.

Me: “So I can’t lodge a report here?”

Policewoman: “That seems to be the case I’m afraid. Your accident happened at the mainland, then it has to be handled by the mainland police officers.”

Me: “But I’m not here to report about the accident. In fact, I don’t really give a shit about the accident. I’m here to report about a road rage incident that happened after the accident!”

Policewoman: “Yeah but your first point of dispute started from THAT ACCIDENT at the mainland, so it is considered a mainland issue.”

That definitely didn’t sound right to me. Correct me if I’m wrong – does that mean if I were to be chased on foot by a machete wielding madman from a district to another, and then into a police station in that foreign district, the law enforcement officers there won’t be obliged to help me because it’s out of their jurisdiction? And if I need help, I’d have to run back to the police station at the district where everything started, exposing myself to the danger of the machete wielding madman again, just to get some help? That’s fucking ridiculous if you ask me. I was seriously thinking of Lim Guan Eng at that moment of time…

Me: “So, if I’m in danger, you can’t help me because my problem started from somewhere else? I thought I could go to any police station and you’re still obliged to help me because it’s your job? Does that sound ridiculous to you?”

The NGV pot belly policeman intervened,

NGV tank policeman: “Please don’t misunderstand us. We were just saying that, if an incident started somewhere else, the investigation has to be conducted by the team in charge of that territory… we’re not saying that we won’t help you.”

Well, I wasn’t sure if I actually misunderstood them or did the NGV tank officer was trying to twist his facts… The policewoman seemed to soften a little and started to follow his lead of shifting their position…

Policewoman: “Yes yes, I was just implying that the case has to be followed by the mainland investigation team… not that you cannot lodge your police report here…”

Me: “That’s just your administration issue. It doesn’t really matter to me if it’s handled by YOUR investigation team, or someone else’s. I just want to lodge a report, and you can do whatever you want. It’s as simple as that.”

That was only when she stopped talking and let me describe the whole incident, though she took very little effort to concentrate. Maybe she’s not used to having to remember so much things at a single cue (her experience was probably limited to recording statements about missing pets, undergarments or slippers). I guess that explains why the policewoman asked if I would like to type the report myself, and I went ahead to do it with my less than refined BeeEm (it eventually had to be edited a few times by the officer due to my crappy command of language). That was it.

The case was then taken over by the mainland police team, who was a zillion times more professional than the couple of odd delinquents we met at the police station that day. The inspector in charge told me that he dispatched a couple of officers to pay Ah Beng a visit and had his statement taken. As expected, he denied everything he did and he even justified for his rash behavior by blaming the car before him, which he alleged was tail-gating him ‘too close’ – making him all irrational (Emily recalled that there was no car behind him when he hit my car). What a lame ass retard. I wonder what happened to the macho side of him – having the guts to be such a badass, but do not have the guts to confess. Anyway, the inspector assured me that this guy is a nobody and has a squeaky clean record, and that I shouldn’t worry anything about him – which was a relief for me. He was let off with a warning and I requested to have this incident kept in his record for his future employer’s reference. This was assured to me… and then we proceed to have a small chat, and that incident went past as just another bad episode with an asshole on the road.

michaelooi  | experiences  | 26 Comments
March 26, 2008

I almost got my brain damaged…

I was having my tea break with a bunch of colleagues at our workplace cafeteria, when we were joined by this distant workmate of ours. A lady in her late 20’s, with acceptable looks, decent garbs, mild manners and shit, she was considered an alright person by many, including myself… though I don’t really know her well. My acquaintance with her can be best described as ‘the nodding workmate’ – our interactions are limited to nods and smiles on the corridor, and an occasional exchange of feel good ‘hi’.

Anyway, we were about to leave the cafeteria when that lady colleague came along and joined us. Not wanting to be rude, we kinda stayed on, at least until she finished her coffee. Office courtesy, you know… So, we continued with our chats while waiting for her to finish whatever she was having, but about a couple minutes later, I caught something evil from her direction (she was seated right next to me). It was the odor of heavy perspiration. Like a Bangla’s, wasabi strong. I was at the verge of having an uncontrollable fit and was choking for air.

A quick moment of realization – because the smell wasn’t there before, I duly assumed that the source had to be from her. And sure enough, my suspicion was confirmed when she lifted her arms from getting too animated in a conversation, the odor proportionally grew and hit my nose like a train… almost making me keel over. I was like, oh my fucking godddd, and was about neurons of reflex away from abandoning the fucking table… you know, lest I’d get a brain damage or something, but I didn’t. I’m smart enough to know, that pissing someone off is always not a good thing to do. It is little things like this – being discourteous to strangers – that always fuck you in return in the future without you realizing it. It’s an unfair game that we all have to play. In this situation, the best available option for me was to stay, whiff her BO if I must, just so to not break any bridge and avert a possible risk of ruining my career in the future…

So I had no choice but to stay, with a few spontaneous countermeasures to mitigate the peril of being there. First, I soft kicked my chair to inch as far away from her. The bigger the distance between us, the less intense was her armpit odor for me. Second, I tried to hold my coffee mug as close to my nose as possible. You know, the aroma of coffee can mask almost any stench (which is true). Third, I refrained myself from participating in any of the conversation, lest she’d get excited and stayed longer.

And the plan worked. I managed to live through the entire ordeal with minimal effects. The last I checked myself, I still can move the computer mouse with no less dexterity and I didn’t have drool flowing out from the corner of my mouth… what a close call… but I might not be so lucky next time. It’s all for the career and a sad day for a man.

Leave me alone…

(Fuck, I think I’m gonna leave a phantom note on that lady’s desk sometime, to tell her that she should fucking get her stinking armpits amputated… GODDAMNN)

michaelooi  | experiences  | 22 Comments
February 4, 2008

foreign infestation

I had an unfortunate encounter last week in this locally franchised chicken rice outlet, which was run by an assortment of Banglas and Nepalese. I should have known that I was in for a really challenging time if I patronize that joint, but the situation didn’t permit me much choice, so I gave it a try anyway. I was with Regine and Emily, and after I had placed my order with one of the locals, Regine started to hit her high notes and I had to get her something to calm her down.

Plastic fork and spoon – they work all the time for my daughter (it escapes me why). So I flagged one of the waiters over. Tenzing the Nepalese attended to me and gave me this emotionless gawk. I then requested politely in English – “Can you please get me a plastic fork and spoon for the kid there?”

He went on gawking, but with a change of expression of a freaking out look. I could tell that he didn’t get a shit I said, so I switched to BeeEm – “Boleh bagi sudu dan fork plastik?” (I’m sure I didn’t say it quite correctly but, it was at least something 80% BeeEm).

He reservedly nodded for a couple of times and went off. It finally made sense to him, I thought, but I was wrong. Tenzing didn’t get it. Apparently, he went off to summon his Bangladeshi colleague – whom I would refer as ‘Jahangir’ – to check me out instead. Tenzing then bolted off to somewhere, his burden now transferred to Jahangir, who came to my aid with the same stupid gawk, with an addition of faked anticipation. So I had to repeat my request all over again, in English, with some emphasis of sign language – that I would like to have a plastic fork and spoon for my soon-to-go postal madcap daughter.

Like Tenzing, he nodded and disappeared, nowhere to be seen again. I was made to wait for the plastic utensils that never came, until my patience wore thin and eventually, got one of the shirking locals to get it for me.

The whole episode kinda left me perplexed (like who wouldn’t?) – if those foreign workers do not speak or understand the common spoken languages in our country, then why did they attend to me in the first place? Were they buying the odds of a miracle that I could probably speak Bangladeshi or Nepalese? And which moron in his right mind allowed these people to man the outlet as front runners? (they could have at least appointed someone who COULD SPEAK AND UNDERSTAND something)

The whole thing prompted me to think – are we Malaysians really that short of labors that we need to get so many Banglas and Nepalese to do our chores? Or is it that we’re too conceited or lazy to give a shit about these menial works? Whatever it is, if the trend keeps going on like this, I’d foresee a near future where we would need Banglas to bless our weddings at churches, remove our tumors at hospitals or even run the goddamn government – because we Malaysians are too fucking lazy to do anything at all (and they’re so cheap to hire anyway).

This is so fucked up and definitely has to change.

michaelooi  | experiences  | 9 Comments
August 9, 2007

an encounter with a credit card salesperson

I was coming out of the ATM from withdrawing my drinking fund a few nights ago, when I was approached by this porcine guy…

Porky : “Sir, sir, would you like to apply for our credit card with lifetime ffff…”

He was a credit card salesman. I cut him off before he could finish his first line…

Me : “No thanks.”

It was a simple and straight to the point respond – that I’m not interested in whatever he had to offer. But he kinda tagged along and badgered me further

Porky : “Please sir, just give me five minutes and I’ll explain our fantastic offer to…”

Me : “I’m sorry but, no thanks.”

His eyes fell wide and his expression turned into what seemed to be like he’d been denied entry into his girlfriend’s pants.

Porky : “I’ll give you free gifts. Like this cool transparent alarm clock. Please sir, sign up for a card from me…”

He was desperate. Like he hadn’t eaten for days due to lack of credit card con job. I think he added that piece of alarm clock junk as an element of surprise to get me impressed or something. Yeah right, like I’m gonna get so fucking thrilled about some goddamn alarm clock…

Me : “Look, I personally think credit cards are evil. I’m planning to cancel my existing cards and repent. So please leave me alone and let me get on my way, ok?”

An object that allows you to spend money that you have yet to earn – at the cost of a sky high interest. If that isn’t evil, then what is? That’s pretty much like a legalized loan-sharking business. But Porky didn’t get it…

Porky : “No sir, you don’t have to use the card. You just need to sign-up with me, then keep the card as long as you want, and get this awesome clock for free!”

That explains why he’s soliciting credit card service on a filthy sidewalk by the ATM at night rather than at some air conditioned mall with plenty of chicks – he hasn’t got much neurons in his brain.

Me : “Why would I want to do that lah?? Are you out of your fucking mind??”

Noticing my raised tone, that was only when he backed off and let me go on my way.

I wanted to tell him if that’s the case, I might as well pay him money and give him a blowjob out of the blues. But then, seeing that he’s not a very bright person, I’m worried he just might take my words seriously and demand for a fellatio.

Credit card sales people. Either you hate them, or you hate them a lot. They’re a bunch of desperate numbnuts that know no boundary when it comes to harassing the public. Their conduct simply annoys the fuck out of me all the fucking time. There was once a credit card salesman with heavily cratered face stood completely in front of me and tried to stop me from walking, which prompted me to warn him – “I’d stop if I want to stop, but DON’T FUCKING BLOCK MY WAY.” [if that person was a busty chick with a diggable look, I probably would have relented… but one must know his/her standard, you see…]

Bunch of dipshits they are.

I wonder if any of you blog readers out there peddle credit cards for a living. If you are, probably it would be good if you can tell us more about your occupation… like, does your management really press you guys so fucking hard that you have to cross all limit of courteousness just to meet that quota? Like, are you willing to wax my car (plus whatever free gift that you may have to offer) if I were to sign-up with you for a card? How about a hit job? Kill my neighbor’s dog perhaps? Are you desperate enough to do that?

michaelooi  | experiences  | 16 Comments