Third short story: out of combat

Five days of sitting in hospital green room, swapping handphones on the sweaty palms of customers enslaved upon different tiers in the food chain, explaining to them in a fastidious, totally uninterested fashion give me a slight guilt.

No, it is not that I hate the shade, considering the two years wearing it. Neither is it that I have lost hope in grabbing the Best Customer Service Awards, even with my hopelessly inaudible, or sometimes extraterrestrial spoken words. What I prayed for forgiveness, everyday in the train riding back home, is for those customers' lost time for their own exclusive self. Imagine Siddhartha halfway reaching nirvana in a reclusive aka ghostly forest and suddenly beep..beep..beep.., his mother calling him to come back to his castle, dinner's ready. There would be no Gautama buddha, no Confucious, no Mohammad. And no Alexius, even though his phone is always on, his selective picking allows some free time for his own selfish endeavors. Such an instantaneous device stole our personal freedom, giving our hideouts away even when we needed some quiet sanctuary.

Anyway, heres the third short story ‘out of combat'. Although I intended it to be a chapter of my novel, it simply doesn’t fit (the story is too stupid anyway). The protagonist is a recruit undergoing his basic combat BMT during NS. He absolutely hates it and attempt to escape by...read it here.

http://lucifer-fables.blogspot.com/2009/09/out-of-combat.html

Finally, a useful bee who contribute to the society

After one week of cruising around, doing absolutely nothing except knocking office doors, harassing working men and women buzzing like bees inside a hive, spoiling their businesses and bon appetites with my horrendous resumes. I finally found a job whose company was big enough to contain me. Located at Cuppage street (I mistakenly thought garbage street this morning), just a 5 minute walk from somerset MRT. Though I had been shortlisted for 2 other jobs (one a retail associate for Cole Hann, the other a sales and marketing associate for Coundeon advertising Co, if I had the name spelled right), I prefer the stability of working under a bureaucracy. Why? Because there is always a big brother to manipulate and court. Just kidding.

Well, this job is nothing fanciful, just a telesales executive. I like the word executive, it spells the need for action. Executive is the oomph that steers the world economy. Without executives there are no business transactions, deals wouldn't come to fruition and I bet almost half of the world working populations would be recruited into positions such as couch potatoes, Xbox players and L4D slayers. Yes, I am now a useful working bee of 6 months, paid 7 bucks an hour, ferrying the pollens to the hive, contributing sweetness to a country manifested with hives. The salary is meager though. The sales and marketing associate pays $400 more, but I charted it to the furnace because of the steep and dark stairs. The flight of stairs reminded me of some old, dingy, pedophile haven English chapel's bell tower, and clumsy me humpy dumpy down. And imagine that was my first interview of the day!!! Three more to go. Whoohoo.

I went back to Hougang Mall for my second interview. Regretted doing so and on board the train again, without even meeting the person. Why? It was too near my house for comfort. And I didn't like the idea of sitting alone staring at all those gadgets and stuff. So at Orchard MRT I alight.

The next interview was a tricky one. According to the newspaper ad, Cole Hann was located at #01-02 at Shaw centre. But I kept circling around Isetan, inspecting the entire Shaw center facade, even the toilets, Cole Hann's nowwhere in existence. I thought that was just a pretty sarcastic prank, and I almost cried for being fooled. Suddenly a friend flashed out and said hi. I pretended to traipse around, appearing cool. Nobody must know how I really feel inside, since secondary school I had concealed my bipolar disorder like some patients suffering from split personality. Just before the thought of giving up struck me and continue my interview marathon, I flipped open my interview schedule I had mapped out and the contact number smirked at my foolishness. Okay I will make a call and scream at them for cheating on me.

'Come to shaw tower level _______', the friendly voice instructed. Yawned, I took the lift. Looked around. Found the office number, and beeped. 'Oh please come in' the same female voice said. I opened the door, and right in front of the doorway cardboard boxes stacked sky high. Sunglasses, accessories, shoes, all luxury consumer goods labeled and packed inside insignificant brown boxes. Considering how lean I was, I had to hamster through the path in order to shake hands with the lady. We chatted a bit, and after a while I asked her when would I know I am shortlisted. 'You are already shortlisted.' Yay!

'But, since you didn't have any experience in retail, I am afraid you have to sell at the bazaar before they could admit you to the boutique.' Oh, I said, somewhat saddened. 'It would be from 1st Oct to 10 Oct, then we will decide whether you are able to work there at ion orchard.' Oh, I replied again. Start work at 1st Oct...that would meant 2 weeks of doing nothing, wasting life away. No, no, no, I had suffered a year of sedentary lifestyle in NS already, I wanted no more, no more. Nevertheless, I thank the lady again and proceed to the next interview: starhub.

I am not going to blog about every intricate details because of the confidentiality clause I believed I had signed. But the interview went well, I got shortlisted immediately, just before the guy from Coundent advertising called to tell me I am shortlisted there as well. I rejected him, saying I had found a job at other places. But all went well. I celebrate with chicken and potato salad for dinner.

After NS

Life became a Harley Davidson hellish ride that went kaboom-kaboom-kaboom! Always accelerating, never allowing me to stop and hear the saint Scree-eech as the rowdy speed swept me numb and muzzy. Why the hurry? To try out something new? To have fun with my friends while they still haven’t morphed into a bunch of chao recruits? Or to find a job that appreciates my mojo writing? Hey, a week before my ORD, I am just hoping to finish Atlas Shrugged. Now the brick sized book laid forgotten, accumulating library fines as I dwelled on a new route, albeit wayworn, but fuck it, since right now I am suffering, and celebrating, my post NS syndrome.

Post NS hits me when I went out with my friend? for lunch. (Note: discretion of names and quantity is practiced with rigor, here on my blog. So friend? can be singular, plural or an animal.) It was a hot, sweltering Friday afternoon, pink IC in rightful possession, strolled Orchard Road, molesting some smooth fabrics, and I suggested the wrong restaurant to dine, as usual. We went to Shudoku, blew a hole on my wallet as well as deflating theirs, grinding lousy food in our stomachs, in agony because we were not satisfied by the taste and the quality. I hope my friend? didn’t cut ties with me because of this.

On Friday night I visited my friend? house. We played majong through the night. I began my fathomable multi-tasking; juggling the pouring handphone messages on one hand while discarding tiles on the other. I lost four bucks at the end. Bleary me dozed off quickly at four plus and woke up the next morning seeing and smelling my friend’s round butt. I hoped and pray to the almighty that the sudden burst of air felt on my face during my sleep was emitted from the air-con.

I rushed to meet another group of friend? at PlazaSing. We had lunch together at Carl’s Jr. I had my usual breadless burger and criss-cross fries. We chatted until the cosmos destroyed and us lynched by the preying eyes of passer-bys waiting to dethrone us the gossipy eunuchs. Soon I found that I didn’t brought my handphone with me, its’ rear was pumped by the plug. Realizing that I promised my Friday night sleepover friend? that I am attending their friend? birthday, and without a phone they couldn’t contact me the where, when, what, who. So quickly I disposed my lunch friend? and went home to retrieve my lashed dog barking horrendously at me.

MRT back to PlazaSing on Saturday evening. We went scouting for birthday present. Found one, which I forgot what it was, and bought it. At Swenson I ordered seafood salad, two more holes punched in my wallet as I helped pay for my friend?. Went to watched G-force, a rather lame movie that sang one and a half hour of peaceful lullaby. On the way home my friend? told me that his friend? said I was gay gay. I forgot what my reply was but something like; no lah, I am still hiding in the closet. Imfao I couldn’t sleep at night. So I read Atlas Shrugged, hoping it was another G-force, but it wasn’t.

It wasn’t until my head began to drop and hit the book that time slipped from 7 to 11. I remembered I had engagement with my friend? at 1.30pm. So I quickly changed and mrt to vivo. Once at Vivo it was still early, so I sat in the cubicle catching a few minutes of beauty sleep until an ah pek caught me, racked the door and I ran out, to Pageone. My friend? saw me and I blurted out something silly but it was quickly forgotten. We went to Carnivore, the chefs there wield huge knifes and kept on slicing meats on our plate. I got slightly intimidated by my friend? ability to speak like laser guns and in different languages alien to me, while I still spoke in poor, diluted English, with Singlish stamp of approval. Mandarin was never rolling in my friend? mother tongue, so I was all the more nervous to meet friend? from outer space.

We journey to my friend? Condominium. I forgot most of the conversations because I was too tired, my memory told me that we went swimming, sauna, troubled at the shower and visited Hanabi at Katong Mall; far better Japanese food than Shodoku. And better yet, since my wallet was completely saved from drilling. We taxied home and I threw myself to bed and sleep, never shower, never read bedtime stories, regretted on the next afternoon that nervous me couldn’t stand up in the shower.

I totally screwed up the next Monday afternoon. I was supposed to have a job interview at eleven, but it was already three hours late. I comforted myself with cup noodles and kicking my pikachu alarm clock, which didn’t functioned its job properly. It pleaded its innocence, pointing on its pointy-head that I had pounded on him at nine to shut up. So you wanted me to shout mea culpa mea culpa? I asked him politely. It shut up.

My friend? called, asking whether I want to go gym at four. I said okay, he asked whether I want swimming after that. I said okay. He was a good salesperson, always adding value to the prior statement. We the sadists hurt ourselves in gym, pumping all those cold iron bars, making my hands sore. After the sweat dried one of my friend? said lets screwed swimming and lets go running, so we did. We ran 2.4km, and as usual, I was the first to reach. Watching my friend? panting and failing to catch up their breath was so refreshing; I had my phantom Gatorade already. We had dinner at subway, talking cock, getting scratched by my friend? razor sharp claws. That’s all I want to write for my post NS syndrome.