A disappointing evening turned strange and then disappointing again...
---
After being too unwell to go to last week's lesson, and in dire need of
stimulation, I was determined to go dancing tonight, but I got held up by some
lost shopping. As yesterday was a public holiday for independence day, I used
my day off to go to the Mustafa Centre to buy some new clothes. I took my bag
to the quiz with me and was clearly so overwrought by our victory (two in two
for Arvo 2 now!) that I left the bag on the table. The folks at the pub know us
quite well, so they knew Loyal Hamid would be back to collect his morsels of
consolation soon enough and they saved the bag for me. By the time I sorted
that out, it was too late to make the hour's trip to the dance studio all the
way in Yishun. I had been looking forward to the light relief so much that I
started to feel an "episode" coming on as my best-laid plans went agley again.
By now, I have become quite good at trying to mitigate the worst of
these episodes by squeezing something vaguely satisfying out of bad experiences
-- with mixed success, it must be said. Also, I am a do-as-I-do kinda man, so I
followed the advice I gave to all of you by going to try a new hawker centre,
Newton Food Centre, for another of my silent and solitary dinners. Newton is
one of the biggest and most renowned hawker centres in Singapore. I got there
at just about half past seven, and it took about 15 minutes to explore all the
stalls. There's plenty of choice there, but probably seafood was the most
prevalent cuisine. It's the kind of place where they are accustomed to tourists
and are on the lookout for anyone who looks like an ang mo, whom they will then
shout at in an attempt to get Western custom. I am not an ang mo, but in a
certain light – such as hawker centre
beige – I can do a passable impression of one.
I settled on a Thai place with a reasonably long queue, and the lady
taking the orders said it would be a 15-minute wait. It's not Michelin-guide
levels of hankering, but it's certainly a much longer wait than people would
normally settle for, so I thought it must be good. Anyway, I was in no hurry,
so I ordered the green curry and went to buy a cold drink while waiting. It
didn't really work, though, the enjoyment was spoiled by my lack of appetite. I
got through most of the rice, but didn't enjoy it as much I should have done.
Defeated, I resolved back home to seek solace in my final salvation
(tea) and, on the way back into my condo, was accosted by a German who spoke
with a French accent (and looked like Zlatan Ibrahimovic). He asked if I lived
there. Suspicious, I answered that I did. He then asked for the block, but I
asked for an explanation of what he wanted. He said he lived in block 6 and
that his friend was coming to see him. To prove this, he showed me an exchange
of messages on his phone, which was in German (that's how I knew that the
German who spoke with a French accent was, indeed, German). He told me his
friend's name, but it sounded like he was saying "Boulangerie". The
German conversation was not all that helpful to me, so he took it upon himself
to translate the exchange into English (he could have been saying anything!).
His problem, I was told, was that he had to get into a taxi and leave before
Boulangerie got there. Some friend, I thought. He then tried to hand me his
door keys, saying that I should go up to my apartment and drop the keys out of
the window when Boulangerie arrived so that he could let himself in while the
German who spoke with a French accent was out. All this was undermined by one
fatal flaw, which the German who spoke with a French accent had not yet
considered. And then he screeched, "Drat!" (like Dick Dastardly).
"You don't have internet!" That was a tad presumptuous, I felt. What
he meant was what I would not know when Boulangerie arrived, which side of the
apartment I should toss the keys out of, or if it was even the right person I
was aiming for! Then he walked off in search of a less impractical solution to
his problem. I guess that waiting for Boulangerie before making off in a taxi
was not an option.
I'm at home now, being salvaged by tea. And all I can think now is that
I should have called in at a boulangerie on the way home, for a sweet pastry to
have with my tea...which is depressing.
---
By:
The Imperial Orange,
10th August 2016
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