Freelove Freeway
21/01/2006
Why you shouldn’t share tables at hawker centres
Feeling adventurous, we went to Maxwell Market for lunch today. There were like 7 of us, so we had to split up into two tables. I sat with Heather and Luke.
<sidetrack>
Heather and Luke have been working very hard. The product they’re working on is so huge and tricky, and their deadlines are pretty damn tight. Add to that a whole heap of content provider complications. They’ve been putting in really long hours and they’re really stressing out. I think they’re doing great, because even though it’s difficult, they’re implementing all that goodstuff I didn’t and procrastinated on. For 2 years.
Aza-aza fighting!
</sidetrack>
When we were just about done, this lone geezer in his mid-forties asked if he could share the table. I was a little annoyed, because he asked – Is anyone sitting here? – but didn’t have the decency to make eye contact when I said – No, go ahead.
Anyway. He sat down with his food and started to tuck in, and 5 minutes later he looks at us and asks us – Are you Singaporean?
Perplexed, Heather and I answered, Yeah?
He sniggers a little, and asks Luke, “Can you run very fast? Do you run as fast as Ben Johnson or Marion Jones? Can you fight like Steven Seagal or Jet Li?”
And I’m thinking, not only is this dude seriously nuts, he’s going to sell us something. Damn.
And we return him even more confused looks. The man chuckles a bit and adds sarcastically, “Well I thought you were. Because your two girlfriends here just have their wallets and phones on the table like that. A snatch thief can come by and unless you can run as fast as Ben Johnson you won’t catch him”.
He went on to ask us another series of questions, like if we worked in the area, if we were office workers. He proudly pronounced Luke a non-office worker, because of his red cap, and Luke gleefully went along with it, saying he didn’t have a proper office job.
At this point, I had enough of answering his questions and had a load of questions of my own. Heather makes a quick exit, excusing herself to get dessert. Luke runs along with her in a dash that would make Carl Lewis proud. And I stayed there, getting ready to have some fun with the obviously Paranoid Uncle [PU].
PU: Are you a graduate? Of NUS?
Me: *Non-commital smile*
PU: Yah, you look like a graduate. Sound like a graduate. Do you work in an office around here? Cannot be right, dressed like that.
Me: (Pointing to his stiffly pressed shirt and pants with that pressed middle line down front) Uncle, not everyone who works in an office dress like you, ah?
PU: Yah, you’re right. Today is Friday. You can tell your friend, you all aren’t the only people I’ve told this to.
Me: Well, even if that’s the case, you should understand that it’s offensive to me when a stranger sits at my table and starts asking me questions. Not only that, you’re asking me things with an answer in mind. It’s rude if you ask me.
PU smiles and stands up at this point. He walks away, but his food is on the table, so it was evident he was coming back. Drat.
PU: Yah I understand your point. I apologise. Because sometimes I just get too carried away, and I forget formalities.
Me: I don’t need formalities, I just take offense when strangers ask me a barrage of questions, and especially if you are asking to make a point. If you have a point to make, just come out and make it. Don’t ask me questions to prove something.
PU: You have to understand the threat. In these times, you know what it’s like? What the threat is? You can have someone who has no qualms about strapping bombs to his chest and driving someplace and killing himself and other people along with him. Do you understand that that’s the threat? These terrorist threats are very real. Do you know what it means?
The PU looks all serious now. He is earnestly trying to show me the truth. His eyes widen. He moves forward in his seat. The passion with which he makes his point makes me sound like an insolent kid when I respond.
Me: The way I see it – it’s a big difference between a snatch thief and a terrorist.
PU: You know, the governments around the world, they are clamping down on these terrorists funding. So now they become desperado… [For some reason I wanted to laugh when he said desperado, simply because I didn't figure him for an Eagles fan, but then again. It could be a Paranoid Uncle buzzword. It's like saying "project management" or "search optimisation" in my organisation.]
At this point, I receive a phone call, and I thought, what luck! I excuse myself to pick the call, and it was a very thoughtful Eeevahn (sorry I called you a mean name in the morning). He said the most comforting four words this year – Do you need rescuing?
I guessed I would’ve run out of things to say to PU, though I wanted to find out where he worked and stuff, but when the way out called, I just figured I’ll take it. And so I left the table. PU left it to pick up some food, so I left without saying goodbye.
After talking to PU for a bit, I wasn’t as irritated with him as I was when he first sat down. At the end he was came across as a jaded, paranoid, passed-over civil servant, maybe even a police officer from the nearby police station. He spoke well, and was evidently somewhat educated. He wore his belief in discipline firmly in his demeanour, but he bore this look of pent up frustration – at not getting ahead, at being overlooked, at being surpassed by younger graduate punks. He was probably harmless, but I was not going to take being spoken to in that condescending tone without getting even. Which is juvenile and stupid, I know, and in the end I hardly got even and instead had to entertain his paranoia longer.
So the morale of the story is – there really is no getting even or satisfaction at the end of things.
Oh wait, that’s not it. Let’s try again:
And that’s why you don’t let just anyone join your table during lunch.
Yeah. That.
