Reason To Write: I Want to Escape From Hellhole

March 16, 2005

I Want to Escape From Hellhole

Getting Away... It is the old man again and now he has gone electronic, with possibly the help from a young admirer. I cast my glance at his photo on the site once again and asked myself if he still believed he could pull off a seemingly impossible-to-win battle and not end up on the losing side. I would love to bump into his little entourage somewhere in the heart of town once again, buy his book just so that my old man could have fresh reading materials (apart from all his fish and aquarium magazines) and shock the throngs of fellow peasants who consciously try to avoid the old man (‘cos no one wants to get a knock at 3 am in the morning and get invited for coffee… and no, it is not for your friendly neighbourhood cuppa coffee).

Call me shallow, but I admire his perseverance. If it were me in his position, I would have chickened out even before I made the first step. In fact, many times I found myself giving up too easily because I believed I would not make it.

I wish him all the best though and buying autographed books from the man gives me an adrenaline rush sometimes.

***

So the ex-sarong kebaya girl is heading for Koh Sammui this weekend, possibly with her friends or *gasp!* her significant other (if not, where did those flowers during Valentine’s Day come from?). Although both of us are cut from the same pieces of “mould”, we are quite different in many ways. Like me, I reckon she loves the sand and the sea, but maybe the more extroverted her prefers more sporty activities while the introverted me will be happy with shades, a book or magazine and a glass of ice-cold camomile tea by the sea (throw in a hammock and I will be a happy chappy).

Despite being siblings, we were never close and it took an icq programme to facilitate her breaking of news of her latest holiday destination to her older brother. Seriously speaking, I would not be surprised if I were to hear about her wedding plans via electronic means when already her plans to acquire a small family car were discussed on the Internet.

Then again, I am proud of have a sister who got the best of both her parents’ physical genes and was able to enhance it enough to get into the official sarong kebaya uniform. In fact, I can feel my bile rise a little whenever I hear of friends bitching about how the standard of beauty amongst the sarong kebaya girls has somewhat fell from the lofty heights propped by classy ads on the telly and glossy ads in magazines. She is still a beauty in many men’s eyes.

Pity her brother got the unbuttered side of the bread…

***

As I would possibly be going for an interview tomorrow and because I had something on this evening, I had to go for an unplanned shopping trip in the heart of town last evening. The weeknight crowd there was manageable since the thought of there being too many peasants on this little speck of an island rarely popped in my mind last evening. Of course, it was a chance to sneak some peeks at babes who were dressed to kill and be noticed in the heart of town, but I was desperately looking for ideas, in the form of men who had some dress sense for work or got their womenfolk to moonlight as their unofficial fashion consultants.

Like any other shopping trip in the past, I had to do it on my own and relied heavily on what my perception of dress sense and colour combination (a biggie in the land of the womenfolk) when choosing my clothes. The target for the night was to get a couple of decent shirts (to replace the work shirts that I wore for at least five years already) and a couple of matching ties.

The time spent looking around in the shop was longer than the time I grabbed the potential buys, charged into the changing room to see if the cut fits and paid for the purchases at the counter. This is how a typical guy shops for clothes when he is alone and possibly the knowing look on the salesgirl’s (who served me) face confirmed it.

In and out of the shop (only one shop) in fifteen minutes and I was next seen walking towards an eatery to grab my steak-and-cheese six-inch.

And the interview? Can’t say I am not prepared for that (since I still have to iron my new wrinkle-free white work shirt, try on the beige-coloured tie and read up on going-for-interview tips from my job-hunting handbook) but I have yet to receive an email on the confirmed time for it.

***

The day I can legitimately throw in my “That’s-it-I’m-off” letter may be the day I burn a big hole in my pocket.

Why?

Simply because the highly emotional me will probably throw a 15-course banquet to celebrate it.

Posted by D W at March 16, 2005 10:40 AM