Arbor Vitae

so my ex was 2 years younger than i was - and for that we have the Malaysian and Australian education systems, respectively, to thank.

Aus = straight into uni without a prep year at the tender age of 17.

yes, seventeen - these kids aren’t even allowed to drink legally yet, but that doesn’t explain why they wandered through their first year at uni in an alcoholic daze, does it?  *winks*

Msia = many many many years of god-knows-what torture the Education MInistry has made mandatory including KBSR (Kerja Berat Sampai Rebah) and of course KBSM (Kerja Berat Sampai Mati).

and to top it all off, you still have to do a prep/ Pre-U year after high school - that’s just adding insult to injury.

and the end result was: i entered uni an OLD HAG ok?

old as compared to the masses of nubile fresh young oh-so-trendily-clad 17-year-old students of course. in contrast, i’m a 24-year-old post-grad HAG, so sue me! :p

and i copped a fair bit of flak when i was together with my ex - my friends ragged me about being a cradle-snatcher, a baby-sitter, a childcare provider etc etc etc ad nauseam.

but one thing i was not, was a PAEDOPHILE. at least my ex was of legal age (19 if you must know) when i met him.

today, my non-paedophilic tendencies were put to the test.

btw, for those of you who don’t know, i was born a cynic. and you see, with this model of cynicism i was born with, they also threw in the extra features (at no additional cost) of suspicion and paranoia.

and having been recently shoplifted twice *shakes fists in air in anger*, those extra features have certainly come to the fore.

so what would you expect me to do when this bunch of teenagers come wandering into the store THREE TIMES during my shift?

the answer?

BE PARANOID, of course.

and being paranoid for me means greeting them (doesn’t matter that i’ve said "How’re you going?" to them twice previously) and pretending to tidy merchandise around the store, whilst in reality checking them out (in the are-they-shoplifters-sense, not the pervy sense, you pervert!)

Visit #1:

potential paedophile victim (PPV) stands with his friends near wallet stand.

looks at (female) wallets. giggles with a couple of teeny-bopper girls in his group. looks at wallets. glances over at the counter to look at me. giggles with teeny-boppers.

*OK, maybe i have an ugly face and i am severely sleep-deprived, which explains the looks and the ensuing giggles*

p/s: and yes, males can giggle too. esp. males of that age. 

Visit #2:

PPV wanders in with his friends (again!) and stands near counter looking lost.

so i ask him if he needs any help. the teeny-bopper females burst into spates of hysterical laughter for no apparent reason.

*OK, maybe my face is uglier than i thought it was. note to self: DO NOT underestimate the level of ugliness one’s face can attain*

teeny-boppers than said "yeah, he needs help alright!"

*sigh. OK, i see what i’m dealing with here. they’re ragging him and they need an audience for their juvenile humour. well guess what? it’s not going to be me*

PPV turns red in the face and mumbles that he’s "just looking"

teeny boppers burst into hyena laughter. again.

*whatever. as long as they’re not shoplifting, i don’t care if they brought in a trained monkey and taught it to juggle milk bottles in my store. as long as the monkey is toilet-trained and doesn’t leave poo all over the carpet of course *

Visit #3:

PPV actually walks up to me ALONE.

*phew-wittt*

WOW. so he has finally discovered that he CAN function without 20 friends surgically attached to his arse.

wait a minute. his friends/ posse/ gang/ whatever are standing in a gaggle right outside the store.

maybe they’re trying to control him via remote control. maybe he’s not actually human. maybe he’s this school assignment they had to build in time for the Robotic National Finals (i kid you not - the Robotics Tournament is a serious affair ok?)

*sigh. what does he want? i really don’t need this - i’m supposed to be in a state of perpetual high alert for shoplifters remember? *

me: are you’re right there?

PPV: ummmmmmmm…

me: are you guys having a dare or something?

PPV: not really…*shuffles feet. looks at shuffling feet. scratches head*

me: ….

PPV: *looks at me with an expression approaching agony on his face*

me: *SHIT, that’s it! i’ve finally done it - i’ve managed to kill someone just because they took one look at my ugly face*

PPV: canigetyournumber?

me: what? do you mean the store number? it’s XXXXXXXX

*see, i can reel it off by heart - i have worked there too long*

PPV: ummm…can i get your email?

me: NO. is this some kind of high school dare?

PPV: uhhhhhh….no…..how did you know i was in high school?

me: because i’ve seen you in this store before, wearing a high school t-shirt.

*in case you think that my noticing him is an indication of closet paedophilic tendencies, it’s not.

the only reason i noticed him was because:

1. he always comes into the store on weekends with this bunch of loud, annoying friends

2. he’s Eurasian

3. he has hair the shade of some golden baboon’s ass (out of a bottle of course, Mother Nature could not possibly have invented a colour that lurid)

4. i thought he was a SHOPLIFTER (let’s hear it for suspicion and paranoia, eh?)

PPV: oh.

me: sorry, you can’t have my number.

*WHY did i say i was sorry? i was NOT and am NOT sorry. why did i just apologise to this teenage twerp? GAH*

PPV: did you just have your hair cut?

me: WHAT? did you just ask me if i….

       *inwardly cursing in Hokkien, i decide to try another tack*

me: do you know how old i am?  *tries to look as hag-like as humanly possible*

PPV: no….

me: i’m 25. *well, almost*

PPV: oh….

me: …and i’m kinda busy right now

*AN UTTER AND COMPLETE LIE. there was no one else in the store but him. oh, and his buddies standing near the door.*

PPV: oh. *shuffles feet. scratches head*

me: *bolts for the backroom, cursing inwardly. shoplifters be damned - an underage teen just tried to hit on me, this is an emergency, and i think i’m entitled to my escape! *

of course i told T. and we laughed ourselves into hiccuping fits when she started her shift later.

she though the bit where i said ‘"i’m 25…and i’m kinda busy right now’ was priceless.

i admit it was a lame-ass pathetic excuse of an excuse, but hey, i was CORNERED by a golden-baboon-arsed-haired underage teen OK? it was the best i could come up with at the time.

bloody PPVs.

maybe this is just another ploy by the shoplifters to pilfer our store. maybe they were trying to distract/ embarass/ insult me so that they could pinch our Guess handbags in peace. maybe all 20 of those teenagers belonged to the shoplifting gang. maybe the PPV was actually the gang’s head honcho’s son in disguise (how else would you explain why his hair is the shade of a golden baboon’s ass?).

maybe.

i’d prefer that to being hit on by a 17-year-old twerp any day.

i’ve just spotted my bizarre affinity with the number 4.

it’s the one constant motif in my life: from my primary school assigned number to my high school assigned number to my seat number for the SPM exams to three out of seven of the addresses i’ve had in Aus.

to those of you (esp. the Cantonese-speaking amongst you) who shudder at the mere mention of this ‘unlucky’ digit and are probably shrieking "AIYO, SO SUEY AH!!!!"  at me right now, here’s another thought to send chills down your spine: at my current address, the number 4 is actually preceded by a ‘2′ *muahahahahahah*

anyways, this questionnaire/ quiz thingie has been making its rounds on the Internet, and i’ve finally decided to cave and give it a go….perhaps i AM bowing down to the ultimate power of 4 after all

4 Jobs You’ve Had in Your Life:

1. sushi takeaway counter staff with a helluvab**** of a boss - no idea how i managed to stick it out for 3 years, 18 months of which overlapped with job # 3

2. a short stint at some god-forsaken internet cafe (NOT the sleazy kind) in PJ - to my friends who came to annoy me, aren’t you glad it gave you an excuse to play CS? *winks*

3. retail team member selling handbags and luggage to people who are deluded enough to think i know what i’m talking about *grins*. oh, and in the course of performing my duties in this job i also get to CHOP the hands off SHOPLIFTERS! *mystified? refer to previous blog entry*

4. hopefully something stable in a supportive environment, with reasonable renumeration and a nice little superannuation + allowance + company car package - me? mercenary??? i’m a realist, i hope, but not avaricious :p

4 Movies You Could Watch Over And Over:

1. Lost in Translation

2. The Hours

3. Zhang Yi Mou’s earlier efforts (nothing post-Hero) and any of Ang Lee’s films

4. Nicole Kidman’s body of work in which she is actually acting - that means no ‘Bewitched’ or ‘Stepford Wives’

4 TV Shows You Love(d) To Watch:

1. Nigella Bites - i’m a foodie, so sue me! :p

2. SATC

3. Grey’s Anatomy

4. well-produced historical/ social issues docos

4 Places You’ve Been On Vacation To :

*hysterical laughter*

i wish - i’m currently studying in Aus, does that count? guess not :p

but seriously, i did most of my travelling with the CHSPMO orchestra - all of which was fun, nerve-wracking and eye-opening, but it’s not exactly what you’d call a vacation.

have you ever tried to get 30 giggling 15-year-olds into bed and then make sure they stayed in bed so they wouldn’t be snoring their heads off at the performance tomorrow? have you???

4 Places You Would Rather Be:

1. it wouldn’t be here

2. it still wouldn’t be here

3. back home with my family and friends

4. i have the attention span of a lemming, so i’d say anywhere which has taken my fancy at that very point in time - that includes great swathes of Europe, the UK and Asia

4 Of Your Favourite Foods

1. Malaysian anything, but i especially love mamak food! where else can you be fed at 3am in the morning for $2, which measly amount also guarantees you the use of your table + as much seating as required for as long as you like?

2. i have a weakness for carbs and dairy products - the holy trifecta of bread + butter + pasta = dieter’s nightmare

3. for heaven’s sake, what else would you need to stuff your face with?

4. refer to # 3

4 Websites You Visit Daily

1. the university webpage - yes, it’s nerdy, but the uni has sworn to hang us by our thumbs and beat us black-and-blue for a week if we don’t check our totally uncool university-provided emails at least semi-occassionally - oh the joys of e- and paperless everything :p

2. both my Yahoo! mail accounts - yes i have 2: one for the junky stuff, the other less so.

3. MSN Messenger (not really a website is it?) and by extension my Hotmail account and MSN.com

4. pmobaco.com and some random blogs when i can be bothered. Kenny Sia is usually good for a laugh - this is the man who has singlehandedly put Kuching and East Malaysia on the map (even for Malaysians!) and raised the sale of coconuts at least 500% since he started blogging.

BEER.

BEER. BEER. BEER. BEER.

rugby = more BEER.

girls. BEER.

more girls. more BEER.

weekends = 3 days of BEER.

pub crawls = continous supply of BEER.

watching rugby. BEER.

watching rugby while drinking BEER.

playing rugby. BEER.

rugby. BEER. rugby. BEER. rugby. BEER.

disclaimer: this post was written with tongue-firmly-in-cheek and is a composite of many Aussie males i’ve come across. some of them would be of the opinion that the sole inclusion of BEER would have provided sufficient insight into their psyche. although if you think i’ve left anything out, feel free to comment :p

warning: this is a rant, if you were after a light and lovely elevator-muzak-playing-in-the-background post, this isn’t it. so you can stop reading right now :p

and the handbagger’s curse lives on.

we were struck by shoplifters today and it happened on my watch - again.

and of course it was 110% my fault. ABSOLUTELY.

in fact, i’d invited the shoplifters over to the shop for tea and scones just last week. and i had the food all laid out so we could tuck in AFTER they’d pilfered the store.

*sarcasm dripping from every pore*

is it my fault that they won’t go to the expense of rostering an extra person on (a common enough practise with other retail chains btw), so that you aren’t left solitary and high-and-dry, during the the lunch hour rush?

is it my fault that the store is without a single security measure - with neither a strategically placed mirror, (fake/ live) videocamera or security markers/ beepers?

and i refuse to apologise for the fact that i have neither x-ray vision/ eyes in the back of my head. the day genetic engineering makes that possible, i’ll get a pair (or actually, several rotating infrared pairs ala HP’s Mad-Eye Moody) installed ASAP. but until then, too bad.

is it my fault that customer service actually entails (believe it or not) serving? i would be more than happy to spend the entire shift with every branded good in-store clutched to my chest, but i don’t think customers would take kindly to having to talk to me through a mound of Guess handbags.

is it my fault that i was alone because T. was on her lunch break. or should we abolish lunch breaks altogether? ditto toilet breaks. in fact, why don’t we all live on the shop floor 24/ 7?

as for mrs smarty-pants manager aka mrs i’ll-blame-everyone-but-myself: you have had stuff shoplifted during your shifts. and just because you’re keen to sweep that fact under the carpet, doesn’t oblige the rest of us to do so.

but according to her, the job description of ‘retail assistant’ includes being able to preternaturally sense incoming shoplifters using ESP, spear-tackle them to the floor like a WWF wrestler and perform a civilian’s arrest. FLAWLESSLY. while simultaneously serving 27 other customers.

as for the true culprits of this all, if i catch you shoplifting from my store again

I WILL CHOP YOUR THIEVING HANDS OFF. BOTH OF THEM.

joint by joint. beginning with the distal phalanges of your little finger. i still have my dissection kit from my anatomy days, so this is no idle threat.

DO NOT COME BACK. *ROAR*

i’ll be waiting with my scalpel and TOAB (The One-Armed Bandit) will use her remaining, non-tendonitis-afflicted right arm to clobber you into the ground with our clunkiest handbag. and mrs smarty-pants manager will proceed to blame you TO DEATH. god knows she does it to the rest of us enough that she has it down to an art by now. 

a day on the Gold Coast is:

crunchy - i talk non-stop, even on the beach, hence flying sand particles end up in mouth

soft - the same crunchy sand particles in my mouth feel like talcum powder underfoot

apprehensive - no one was allowed to swim at Surfer’s Paradise beach - no way, no how. they had lifeguards on the beach and on jetskis, a helicopter overhead and a police 4WD on the beach - shark sighting? rough surf? over-protectiveness? actually, i just found out today that a swimmer had disappeared on that very beach, even though he was swimming between the flags *GULP*

ticklish - the sea breeze was whipping my hair everywhere - even in ear canals and up the nostrils :p

painful - immaculately-clad luxury goods retail assistants tend to raise an exquisitely-arched eyebrow when 2 dishevelled, seawater-scented, sand-trailing girls dare to touch THAT Burberry bag - with a non-sandy finger, i swear! :p

crispy - monster-sized Jager Schnitzel at Bavarian Haus - Bavarian cuisine on the Gold Coast, go figure?!

p/s: TK, i am a weakling - my stomach won the battle against my brain - AGAIN!

stomach *growls*: i want FOOD!!!!!!

brain: OK, how does a salad and some sweet chilli tuna sound?

stomach *howls*: NOOOO!!! i want those ubi keledek chips and the fried coated peanuts and the duck-flavoured instant noodles your sister got from Malaysia!!!!

brain *stammers*: but…but…but……you’re supposed to be eating healthier?!

stomach *ROARS*: GIMMEEEEEeeeeeeee!!! NOW!!!

brain: NOOOOO!! NOOOOOOOOOOO!!! NOOOOOOOOOOO….

me *falls to my knees clutching my head*: must…..resist…………evil…………….chips………….and……………instant…………………noodles

p/s: thanks goes out to TK for suggesting this post

we’re a pretty mixed bag at work when it comes to accents.

T.’s originally from the UK and she still has a British accent, even after 15 years Down Under.

it gets a little out of hand though when she’s worked up/ emotional. her accent moves further and further and further north….until it finally hits Northumberland which is where she’s originally from

my manager’s from regional Victoria, so her accent’s a little different from the rest of us.

C. was born in Adelaide, where they speak a little posher than we do in Queensland - clearly enunciated syllables and all, whereas Queenslanders tend to drawl a bit more.

A.’s the only Brisbane-born-and-bred girl outta the whole bunch - and she’s got a i-don’t-belong-anywhere accent from travelling overseas 4 months out of a year when she was still doing competitive swimming.

and me?

probably the most confusing (and CONFUSED! one of all - Malaysian-born, Australian-educated and apparently American-sounding *gulp*

how did that happen?????

more then 5 customers have claimed that i sound ‘Aussie-American’ - what on earth is that anyways? a koala wearing the stars-and-stripes???

apparently it’s all in the way i pronounce my darned consonants - i’ll have to work on developing my Aussie drawl a little more i think, Crocodile Dundee style :)  *tongue, think lazy, drawly thoughts*

not forgetting that i can speak that most venerable, elite and ‘atas’ language of all - Manglish

i sometimes ring my sister when i am at work and we speak Manglish on the phone and NO ONE CAN UNDERSTAND ME. NOT A SINGLE WORD.

A. actually thought i was speaking some kind of weird alien language and didn’t realise it was English (well, a variant of English) at all.

so i sound like a bloody Ah Lian when i talk to my family…and my friends online. Ah Lian ma Ah Lian loh, cannot meh? :p

but being multilingual (tri-lingual, or in some cases, quadri- or penta-lingual!) has its downfalls - too few eggs in too many baskets, or too many buckets for that matter!

as my friend so eloquently puts it  "Three languages? So many buckets for what? I every bucket also half-bucket water only mah!"  *LOLZ*

but i tell you, this multilingualism stuff is enough to give you schizophrenia/ multiple personality disorder.

there’s the me who speaks ‘Aussie’ (as opposed to plain English) simply because Australians really, really, REALLY struggle to understand you if you have even a hint of an accent - even a New Zealand one is considered foreign, by the way

and if you use phone banking and they have an automated system like my bank does, the darn computer simply cannot understand what you are trying to say, even though you’re hollering on the top of your lungs - YES!!!! JUST TRANSACT THE DAMN THING, ALRIGHT!!??

plus, i am sick of people looking at me like i’m green and covered in purple spots and have sprouted another head when i trot out my Manglish - although after a visit home to KL it takes a me a couple of days to recover my ‘other’ accent.

so you will catch me saying ‘lah’ and ‘meh’ to the poor quarantine inspectors at the airport when they ask me what the ubi keledek chips and salted plums in my luggage are.

i do wonder though if multilingual kids ever get overloaded neural systems just from trying to figure what ‘air’ means, both in English and Malay - imagine the confusion at the petrol station - does the AIR sign at the hose mean air (English) or water (Malay)? or does it stand for Anything Is Right? :p

anyways. i’m off to stuff my face with Malaysian goodies, watch some bootleg DVDs and check out the new laptop - did i happen to mention that my sister is back from her holiday in KL? and with lots of goodies in her sleigh…ummm…i mean luggage, to boot!

blogs out.

p/s: hey Kay Jean, isn’t it weird that you have the same thing happening to you with your clients? LOL. maybe it’s all the American TV shows we watched growing up in Msia - i know i watched waayyy too much Friends during my teens! and yeah, we definitely need some kind of accent converter memory chip whenever we travel to and fro from Aus/ Msia.

in a darkened theatre

where couples hold hands and kiss and whisper in honeyed undertones

and families rib each other in jocular familiarity and burst into laughter simultaneously

in this sea of i-belong-to-somebody

a singular individual floats

insubstantial

transient

insignificant

as sea foam

even driftwood has more substance

and the sea breeze is more free

on a day when you’re surrounded by roses, chocolate and corny greeting cards, even the most well-adjusted single might be tempted to run for the hills.

i never thought V Day was such a big deal even when i was attached - rampant  over-rated commercialisation etc etc etc.

i mean, flowers die, chocolates get consumed and champagne imbibed - so what are you left with?  *cynic and realist to the last, i am

but hey, different strokes for different folks.

this year i ran into a couple of girlfriends who were newly single as well and got….hustled….into going over to their place for a V Day *ahem* party.

D. had somehow managed to persuade her parents to go out for the day,(too trustingly!) not return until late in the evening and leave the liquor cabinet fully-stocked of course ! *winks*

i rocked up in the afternoon to find the house teeming with people (all female!) and the party well under progress.

i mean it didn’t start out too badly - Bailey’s over ice-cream and Bacardi Breezers (typical chick-friendly drinks those). but a couple of hours later the ‘cocktails’ came out and as the evening progressed the alcohol content got higher and higher and the mixers got lower.

by the time i left, they were doing rainbow runs and straight shots of vodka with lime and salt  *sigh*  some people are going to be feeling pretttttttyy crap this morning.

i had a bowl of ice-cream topped with Baileys (lactose intolerance be damned!), a watermelon Bacardi Breezer and way too many corn chips - which probably explains why i’m dehydrated and have a headache.

and i shared a cab home with S. who’s inclined to be a little maudlin when she’s had a few (well in this case, more than a few) drinks and scared the hell outta the cab driver because she kept singing really soppy love ballads really loudly in the back seat.

i had to walk up to her flat with her just so i knew she had her keys (she claimed she did last time, but that doesn’t explain why she spent the night in the stairwell and check that her flatmate was home - nothing worse than suffocating in your own spew because no one’s there to lift your head up that couple of inches *euuww*

and that was V Day for me really, just a day like any other, but with the chance to spend a little more time with friends, before they got maggot-drunk that is

but truly, family and friends may be the only Valentine we have in our lives that lasts. they’ve seen me stumble and fall and get back up and stumble again more times than any partner could have.

hope everyone had a good V Day (whatever that is for different folks) and i’m off to see Mummenschanz 3 x 11 tonight.

blogs out.

The Hypothesis: Does sleep deprivation produce driving impairments comparable to those of alcohol intoxication?

The Answer: Driving? No idea. Stair/ Escalator climbing - now that’s a different story.

T. and I turned up at work today with matching bruises on our calves. Injuries sustained in different incidents, of course.

T. had imbibed a little too much alcohol the night before, and that, plus the stilettoes she was wearing tipped the balance: in favour of the concrete steps of the club she was at.

I hardly had such a glamorous excuse - I stumbled (actually, sprawled, if you must be precise) when running up the escalator on my way to work this morning. So sleep deprivation may have affected my motor coordination just a wee bit

Frankly, it was more mortifying than painful and since it was drizzling outside, there was a nice big group of commuters huddled at the bus stop, all ready to witness my debacle.

Sigh.

Note to self: Do not run when soles of shoes are wet. Especially not up escalators. And especially not in front of a group of 50 commuters.

T. and I spent our shift periodically comparing the hue, diameter and level of pain caused by our bruises (in between serving customers of course, we do work you know

She wins hands down for size but I get extra points for the indentation pattern on my knees caused by the grid of the escalator steps.

And since she’s wearing a short skirt and I’m wearing slacks she gets extra kudos for exhibitionism  - her bruises were a beautiful puce-brown by the end of the day.

Looks like The Handbaggers haven’t fully recovered from the curse. What between a potentially amputatable toe, TOAB (The One-Armed Bandit), my manager’s constant head cold and now our bruises, we look like a pretty rag-tag bunch.

blogs out.