2022
****
Previously on Malaysian Tall Stories...
Episode 1: Good Meowning, it's Not a Field of Sheep
****
Once upon a time, a friend in Malaysia was depressed and alone in the final days of college. She was like a lost little lamb in a sea of blackness not knowing what to do, as depressions are just like that.
Without further ado I planned some leave to bring her to fanciful places where cats and sheep awaited to entertain. She loved animals and a little trawling of local businesses brought me to Good Meowning in the outskirts of town. I must warn you the more sheepish of you lot might need to graze around a bit because I'm covering the CATty side of town first!
So how does one travel from Singapore to Malaysia? The well heeled of you lot may say "plane" but the hard-working proletariat (ha!) will always prefer the economical and ample variety of express buses! These coaches available in a range of colors and varied levels of (dis)comfort will shuttle you from busy Singapore to carefree Malaysia in the span of several hours or just about nearly instantly if you slept along the way!
As I live in the Western bit of the Lion City I chose the well used crimson liveried metal beasts of Konsortium to ferry me the few hundred miles to the capital city of Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur. They have an office at Boon Lay, near where I live.
The bus had no fancy bells and whistles, had big plush seats, and because it had no bells and whistles it was cheap and that's just how I liked it. Travelling at off peak timings at an odd season for travel also meant I had the whole back of the bus to myself, not that I knew what to do with a row of three gigantic seats and some secret storage compartments behind them.
It was an uneventful journey save for the fact the bus somehow had no permission to enter its primary destination, TBS (a giant busport facility that was more airport than bus terminal). As passengers and bus conductor alike looked at me for an alternative site to disgorge the bus passengers, tantamount to my having the biggest hairdo on the bus, I nonchalantly approved dropping everyone in the middle of broad daylight amid a bustling red light district that wouldn't look out of place in a Judge Dredd movie remake.
This decision proved tactically sound as the city center was rife with policemen who would detain the clumsy huge vehicle if it disgorged its alien cargo anywhere else near civilized territory! That's why we squeezed the big bus into some busy but unmonitored side streets and let loose the tourists of war! Alighting, I made my way to rendezvous with my local contact and bought a pair of plush sheep from the basement of Times Square, a huge shopping complex with a serviced residence perched atop it like a dystopian arcology in Megacity One.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully aside from evading exorbitant taxi fares charged to anyone resembling a foreigner by virtue of Uber. Much hilarity ensued as the Uber driver arrived in front of Jalan Bintang hotel right before a gang of angry local cab drivers whose livelihood consisted solely of ripping off unwary passengers! Team Sheep 1, Sly Fox 0.
After I was safely checked in to some seedy looking boutique hotel (again, just how I like it), we decided to venture forth to the mythical Cat Cafe in the outlying district of Cheras, because there can be only one cat cafe in the whole of KL! (Says no one, but really, try searching for any other cat cafe, there is none!)
We arrived just as the International Cat Regiment was having dinner, but much to the cafe owner's bemused expression we announced it was human feeding time!
After a hearty round of amusingly named recipes conjured in the depths of a cat fancier's lair (such as Purr Puffs and Hot Cats) the castle gates were opened and the CATaclysm began in earnest. There were fat cats, air con lounging cat, lazy cats, corporate cats that just ate the bonus, all sorts of cats. And OMG, look at the number of cats. After half an hour of intense kitten therapy I declared my friend cured of depression but just to be on the safe side I prescribed a future visit to a sheep/goat/rabbit farm in the city just in case she got consumed by the Dark Side of depression again.
And you thought she looked a fitting bit like the Cat Emperor...
Thanks everyone for reading and I hope you enjoy the next installment!
****
A Malaysian Tall Story
Episode 2: The Sutera Mall Run (Part 1)
****
Location: Kranji MRT station
When: Yesterday, 14 Jan 2017
As the commuter train ground to a halt at its assigned stop, electric motors whining through a pre-programmed sequence of dynamic braking, two men, large, hulking foreign types in well worn street clothes body-blocked the entire width of the outside door. Inside, I was soon trapped in the classical scenario of being trapped between a wave of alighting passengers and a series of immovable objects...
**** Some time earlier... ****
Location: Corporate Offices, Singapore
When: Stuck in eternal overtime, about a week ago
The phone rattled on the cheap desk with its usual unsettling vibrations.
The distinctive dot-dot pattern indicated it was yet another Whatsapp message if you knew a bit of Morse code. Which I didn't, but I imagined was Morse anyway because how else would you tell a story from how long the vibrations on the phone were?
It was one of hundreds incoming per day; typically they reported some kind of unsettling disturbance - the new Fat Cats' directives, complaints from the cubicles over "harassment" from their romantic partners (isn't the proper term "colleagues"? Doesn't seem like it to me!), and the always entertaining event where process discrepancy ends up being outright industrial sabotage because someone, somewhere, didn't like their job...
Life's not always a Field of Sheep in modern Asia. Infact it could very well be played out like a cyberpunk story set in the verse of Shadowrun: Hong Kong. Or was it Singapore? Well, they haven't released a Shadowrun: Singapore Edition roleplaying game. So we'll make do with suspension of disbelief. It certainly keeps the stress levels down.
If you really must know, that text was from a colleague (I do mean colleague, as in trusted team member) who was returning from Italy with an important package. You can imagine that yes, I sent her on a mission to gather sheep-related artifacts in Europe, amazingly expensive as it sounds.
Two glass sheeps exquisitely forged in the pyres of Murano, shaped by the tireless eternal labor of Italian craftsmen who had passed down their skills from generation to generation, were scheduled to be hand-delivered locally (in my office) sometime in the near future. Certainly very fragile, expensive and extremely sheepish (handle with care), the two sheep will be handed over next week to a client, a very important one, in Johor, Malaysia in exchange for things that are best not declared over the Internet. You know, personal data protection, privacy, yada yada. Very personal.
Over the next week then, there was a lot of last minute calls to confirm the exact meeting point, delegations of tasks to the iSheep congregation, searching for money changers in the dead of night using Google Maps and marvelling at just how inaccurate the actual locations are, but like every other shadowrunner it was initiative, and not spoonfeeding that made the day. You figured things out as you went along. You made use of what information and what little resources you had. TANSTAFFL - There Ain't No Such Thing as a Free Lunch, especially in a world where the moon (and your boss, co-worker, and personal clients... I mean, lady friends) are are all harsh mistresses in their own right. It's the way of our time, so when in Rome, you did as the Romans did and didn't complain, except when someone "choped" your favorite table at the kopitiam. Then you complained. Usually very loudly in fluent Singlish.
So you can be sure that every effort was made and every penny channeled into pleasing them with last-second gift purchases, promises that projects will turn out well and oh yes, don't worry, our regular female clients will not scream at the gentlemen on my production floor just because I'm not around. Remember kids, whomever has the biggest hair in the office wins. That and I can be warm and sensual at any moment, then burst forth into flaming, char-grilled crisis management mode the next.
How I survived in this corporate world is creating veritable Fields of Sheep with soft toys so that when the upper management does its rounds they'll all be distracted talking about "sheep pillows" and not failed Service Level Agreements. If you can believe they put a man on the moon (R.E.M.), you can be sure something called pillowcracy - governance by pillows, can be an effective corporate strategy.
****
"Do you know who works at the Apple Factory?"
"What? Employees?"
"Wrong."
"What then!?"
"iSheep."
****
Location: Some dank post-apocalyptic looking budget government housing apartment, Bukit Batok, Singapore
When: 6.05am
The graceful chorus of some Yugoslavian folk pop music I left playing overnight greeted my rise from thankfully not eternal slumber after I was done silencing the alarm. Anything but gracefully, I robotically hair-flipped my way into the bathroom to do the bare minimum of teeth brushing and gussying up. There was no deadline to catch, no threat of zombie apocalypse or even corporate assassination but one does not, repeat does not, want to be stuck with a hour-long queue at the Causeway en route to clients' meeting site across national borders. Life as we know it doesn't look like a set of the movie Elysium starring Matt Damon but you can be sure my cheap apartment (hello cost savings) certainly did.
So it was with practised ease that I donned something tight around the midriff and loose around the shoulders, slung a pre-packed bag over one shoulder and literally just sleepwalked over to the bus stop below the apartment. One does not actually mentally wake until reaching the train station, boarding the MRT, and holding on for dear life to the grab poles as huge electric motors peaked their torque curves at literally zero RPM. (They really do. Source: carbibles.com)
Within a number of minutes it was approaching Kranji MRT station where mythical shuttle buses would ferry stressed-out citizens to carefree Malaysia where your spending power (and thus happiness) is increased by a factor of 3.11 in yesterday's exchange rate. But as usual, immediately there was a problem that needed solving.
As the commuter train ground to a halt at its assigned stop, electric motors whining through a pre-programmed sequence of dynamic braking, two men, large, hulking foreign types in well worn street clothes body-blocked the entire width of the outside door. Inside, I was soon trapped in the classical scenario of being trapped between a wave of alighting passengers and a series of immovable objects...
You could lead a horse to drinking water but it would not drink. In the same way, you could wail like a broken record and remind others that they live in a civilized world and that giving way to others means they can quickly get aboard the train without any obstructions. But no, you might as well gossip about the Housewives of Wisteria Lane to a cow and probably have better success doing so.
Unlike actual cyberpunk novels there aren't spine-mounted supercomputers, electrically-actuated myomer muscles nor super-powered cybernetic limbs. In what they call meatspace you literally just have your wits about you but you do have electrically-actuated organic muscles that certainly react very quickly to the barest impulse of instinct to get clear of the stupid jam before becoming ayam penyet for the wrong (and certainly non-paying) customer to enjoy.
So with one foot firmly planted and one shoulder leading the charge I simply barreled through the deliberately-caused obstruction; without a thought striding off decisively on a tangent before anyone could notice what just happened and air some stupid excuse that somehow blocking the exits of a crowded train is their personal right and civic duty. Nope, no time for that. The sheep are more important. Yes, my client and Malaysian-side-of-the-border contact; her handle is literally translated to "Sheep" and proud of it for reasons only I would know for my personal amusement and use...
Anyways, taking the 170X bus across to Woodlands CIQ and over the causeway to Malaysia is no walk in the park. Indeed, it is actually more standing in an endless queue until the occasional bus decides to come by and taking pity on the snaking, bickering line of mortals about to erupt into a Hunger Games style revolution kind of thing. And then at Woodlands you will enjoy a different sort of fresh air comprised of newly-emitted carbon monoxide in a dusty basement; whose ventilation fans are so choked with dust that none of them have functioned for years.
But presevere like Katniss Everdeen and you might have a taste of freedom sometime in the next hour or three depending on how busy this checkpoint is. If you're like Katniss with a good heart (I do), you would even volunteer to help your fellow man and assist them to make sense of just how the bus system worked and where to go; this cross-border run was unsual in that a lot of people sought, and benefited from my advice rendered in at least two local dialects, sending them on the right set of cheaply-painted lines on the floor and setting them in the right direction with the right ticket price and don't think that jumping queues from 170 to Causeway Link guarantees them with an instant ride over the border (it could certainly be faster, yes, but you paid for another ticket for another bus company and you'd end up at the same place with the Causeway still jam-packed with traffic anyway). Oh and please, don't think of switching from 170 to Advance Coach, unless you enjoy sacrifing a rather sizable part of your Malaysian lunch money for the faint promise of escaping the livestock sorting pens.
Finally after 2 hours and 30 minutes of being rounded up and processed like sheep to the market, came the sight of freedom. For the hundred or so lucky souls crammed into the metal tin called a "bus" the stress levels audibly and visibly decreased by a factor of at least two as the city of Johor Bahru hove into view, the bus slowly, painstakingly making its way through gridlocked traffic. The lyrics of Tarja Turunen's "Die Alive" sounded eerily appropriate...
****
"No more fate and no more mystery
Even as time falls away
As I live my days
Every moment has its memory..."
****
Seconds of time ticked by.
The Causeway passage had taken longer than expected.
Word was sent from the Client's family that Princess "The Kambing" Dina was gathering her entourage and will be en route shortly. Plans had to be expedited, breakfast cancelled and I took the risk to hail an Uber from Johor CIQ itself and not from Larkin as originally planned. Thankfully, the huge shopping mall at Causeway Point was not yet open and thus the ten-thousand strong immortal crowd that lingered there, had not materialized. As for the Malaysian side of customs, I should tell you that my Malaysian passport literally affords me VIP levels of quickness and politeness anytime I decided to drop by. It's the same for their High Commission... and the Malaysian Police... and every single business owner... and my Client's parents... I love Malaysia!
But there was a huge navigational challenge setting up the Uber rendezvous point as there was no accurate way to place the map marker to let the driver exactly know which side of the road he needed to go do. In a scene not dissimilar to a Vietnam-era helicopter evacuation I dodged passing cars amid a 5 lane wide road and ran up to the Uber car aimlessly wandering up the wrong side of the street looking for his passenger. And I was on the phone telling him stay put and look in the damned mirror and he'll see me right behind him!
A dozen angry local cab drivers angrily glared as the Uber driver took off into the morning haze after "stealing" their business; but in absolutely no shape or form do I trust Malaysian taxi drivers and their interesting way of making sure anyone who resembled a tourist was well and amply ripped off. But whatever, real life isn't Grand Theft Auto as I occasionally glanced at the GPS to make sure we were indeed headed to Sutera Mall and not some place where I'll be kidnapped and sold like some lamb to the slaughter.
We were on time and on target and the Uber driver was great and fun to talk to. 14 exact minutes later, exactly as the navigation system predicted, I arrived at the legendary Ayam Statue where the Princess and the royal entourage were waiting. Demonstrating my druidic powers of animal empathy I had a local chick take a perfect selfie like so:
And you all thought I could merely talk to sheep. Ha... you never seen what I did with the local cats.
A Malaysian Tall Story - The Sutera Mall Run
To be Continued...
Next time on A Malaysian Tall Story:
We failed at the Escape Room because we weren't allowed to solve problems with demolition and aggressive negotiations which axe-wielding cowboys are good for.
Investigate a suspiciously huge lolly.
And meet the Lady of the Pond.
Disclaimer: This composition is intended for an international audience and does not reflect local tastes, cultures and/or preferences in literacy works.
Intermission: Citizen's Duty
My girlfriend encouraged me to continue with the Sutera Mall story but this just happened... exact place, time and some descriptions altered in the interest of privacy.
Evidently furious that a puny native would dare challenge him, the foreigner stabbed an uncouth finger at my chest while his wide-open gaze conveyed a sort of animalistic rage that was completely, utterly out of place in the modern world. But there I was, unfazed with my big hair and sleepy eyes - staring down the contorted, wide-eyed face of the tiger.
If work were a field of iSheep I would be the shepherd, I mused as I tossed the rest of my valuables in the locker, leaving the gigantic pink frosted donut pillow on my desk for comic effect as I left for the day, tossing my hair in the direction of the assistant manager as I strode off to freedom at last, the past 14 hours being spent as as mindless corporate wage-slave. But it was not all monotony and TPS reports in the business park; an earlier pleasant conversation with one of my favorite employees led to an interest to shop for some cheese to share amongst the department.
Without further ado I went off to refuel at the nearest KFC using some long-forgotten coupons conveniently donated by one of my fellow modern-day indentured cubicle servants. Following which, another short hop across the road to a supermarket that looked like it was situated in an industrial building. No matter, its massive warehouse-like interior promised great deals and a wider selection of goods than the more cramped siblings.
As I had to travel an hour and a half back home I shopped light and had just some essential dry food in the basket, and what the hell, I thought, swiping up a cute yellow chicken pillow because Chinese Year of the Rooster, right? A fine addition to my arsenal of pillowcratic governance.
Plush chicken secured, I made a beeline for the checkout counters which were by now indunated with the post-office-hours crowd. I had a bad feeling welling up inside me as I witnessed some people rushing for the shortest lines without regard for others' safety. Taking a patient look around to survey the scene rewarded me with nothing but two gentlemen attempting to cut me off at what looked like the express checkout lane; not wishing to cause a scene at "who arrived first" I simply slotted myself between them.
It was just then I witnessed a scene bordering on horrible - the man in front of me shoving his basket of groceries in front of the woman before him, while she was patiently waiting for the stagnant checkout line to clear. She was a typical Asian lady, svelte, demure, and very well-mannered, stating politely that she was ahead of him in line and that he shouldn't cut her queue.
I was not amused as the foreign man shrugged off her rebuke and had the cheek to state "my basket is in front of you, so I came first". What chutzpah! Bullying his way into the queue with his superior size and blissful ignorance, wilfully disrespecting someone's rights with nothing but self-justification and the rudest of body language as he continued to push his way forward... and the Chinese lady backwards. She kept her calm, accepting her fate to be last in line as 'inevitable' since none of the bystanders nor the service staff nor the security guard posted at the entrance would dare challenge an obviously well-to-do foreigner.
Except one devout reader of Robert A. Heinlein.
"Sir, you are out of line. Please step away and let the lady cash out first," I announced, much to the shock of everyone, gaze levelled at the offender as customer and staff alike all turned about to look at me, the dishevelled-looking, sleep-deprived 'legal secretary' who dared challenge the mighty tiger alone and unarmed.
Evidently furious that a puny native would dare challenge him, the foreigner stabbed an uncouth finger at my chest while his wide-open gaze conveyed a sort of animalistic rage that was completely, utterly out of place in the modern world. But there I was, unfazed with my big hair and sleepy eyes - staring down the contorted, wide-eyed face of the tiger.
"You SHUT UP!" he barked, continuing in an abusive tirade best not documented here for the sake of the minors and at-work amongst us, indicating I had no right to speak and that I am being loud and threatening. What a charmer of a hypocrite.
"Sir, a Citizen's duty is to protect the rights of others. You are obstructing public order and violating the rights of the lady before you. I am performing my duty as a Citizen. Remove your things and allow her to check out first." The air stilled as my voice easily flooded the enclosed space, impossibly loud but entirely justified in my limited world-view, that you simply do not take advantage of women and girls and certainly not on my watch!
At this point, the uncouth person threatened to call the police, which ironically, would be a splendid opportunity to get himself into trouble, considering within a few moments of High Noon in the Checkout Lane erupting, the store manager and a gaggle of security guards and supervisors, all female, arrived to take control of the scene. Or tried to.
The foreigner started to put the blame on me stating I was abusing him and that he had right of way, his basket was in front. Oh really? You dare challenge me?
Countering his every point with eyewitnesses abound, I listed down his "offenses" one by one whist indicating he was the aggressor by wilfully disrespecting the rights of others. He has no right to disrespect my fellow countrywoman and certainly not a proper example of manhood if he needed to bully someone smaller than himself then hide in a sea of childish self-justification. I spared no words in judging this creature and since he didn't particularly want to take ownership of his own mistakes, went at it at full volume. I went to the point of telling him that when he visits a foreign country, he should respect the local laws and not seek to abuse the locals for his own amusement. The days of imperialism are long gone.
Soon, one of the guards started to talk me down to which I simply replied, "You know I am not faulting his mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. But what matters is attitude - he should be apologizing and not making up excuses to justify his criminal intentions - in Singapore we have laws to protect women. And everyone is trained to uphold this hallmark of civilized society. If he is half the man he thinks he is, he shall admit his mistake and learn. If not, he shall be subject to a lesson in public."
The manager finally signalled for the lady and I to check out and pay for our stuff. Payment made, she hightailed it out of there, not wishing to be part of the commotion. Justice served, all I did next was a little Katniss Everdeen style curtsey and thanked the manager for her time before going stage right amid a sea of stunned silence, enormous chicken pillow in tow...
"Thank you for your consideration."
