Confessions of a Drama Mama

Earlier this evening, I managed to venture into the mysterious wildnerness otherwise known as Holland Village. Together with my trusty aide Max and pair of nanchakus… I mean crutches, we set off for a long walk into the unknown which resulted in a damn painful pair of armpits.

So anyway. Dinner at Holland Village. We had chicken mayo pizza and sour dough chicken 49ers at Swenson’s. Ahh… Swenson’s…  I remember all the dates I had there. Swenson’s and Jack’s Place.

Anyway.

Both dishes came with a little bush called parsley. Which got me thinking. Nobody eats parsley. It comes along with every other dish, supposedly to beautify it, which means that the chefs (or the waiters whose hands touch everything else) have to spend an extra 2 seconds to put the parsley on your dish, and someone else who have probably have had to pre-pluck all these little bushes from even bigger bushes before… just so we can look at our dishes and pick out the little bushes from them and put them on the table/side of our plates.

WHAT IN THE WORLD IS PARSLEY’S PURPOSE IN LIFE?

And, lagi best, there’s even FAKE PARSLEY!!!! You know every time you buy chilled meat from the supermarket, it comes in a styrofoam plate wrapped in plastic and there’s a green little grass like thingie on top of your meat? Fake parsley. Oh my goodness.

Max says that was originally put with ground beef because that shade of green was supposedly supposed (can we say that? Supposedly supposed?) to make the beef look fresher. And I guess the other meats just followed suit.

So, ANYWAY, no matter how you’re greeting the New Year, if you’re with the kids downstairs blowing their new year horns and letting go little fireworks, with the drunken uncles still watching soccer at the kopi tiam "Har? 2007 already ah?", with about a million people dancing half naked at Sentosa, or sleeping like my husband already is, or like me, whose almost first word of the year was "fuck" because I saw water from the unit upstairs happily dripping into my kitchen, I hope 2007 will greet YOU well and treat you to a fantastic time for the next 365 days.

May your days be filled with exciting stuff like a main dish and filled with purpose, and not parsley-ish. AND I also hope you don’t meet anyone parsley-ish, who makes you waste your time doing alot of nonsense and in the end you find out it’s a complete waste of time because YOUR life is important and YOU have YOUR priorities (because you’re the main dish what).

Happy 2007 all!

Plants can grow! No more floods (poor Thomson Road florists)! No more umbrellas! No more muddy shoes (for those of you lucky enough to be able to wear shoes)! And I don’t care what you say about me being auntie but NOW MY CLOTHES CAN DRY!!!!!! My gym pants (not that I’m going to wear them any time soon) have been hanging on the gala since Sunday. Still not dry

Disclaimer: When people are stuck at home, they tend to find small ways to amuse themselves

By the way, I know that the song is spelt with double M so don’t try and ‘correct’ me hor basket.

So this is part two of "Pai Kar". That was written before all the real drama.

So after Shirley, qualified First Aider, so kindly went on one knee in the IKEA staff toilet to apply a cold compress on my ankle, everything was fine and dandy. But the rational side of me said ‘better cancel kickboxing la. In case’. So in the evening still went for Sandra’s Christmas party all. And before I knew it, the pain started getting worse and worse and at about 10.30pm, decided to go to see a doc.

For all who may ever need to know, SILVER CROSS at Holland Village is open till 12 midnight daily, regardless of holiday or Boxing Day. So I borrow an umbrella and feel like an old man and hobble up all those bloody stairs to the clinic, only to wait forever and finally have the doctor just touch my leg and say "I think you better go for X-Ray. AH’s A&E seems to have the fastest queue usually". So off I go to AH.

Turning in I remember thinking ’shit, so old and scary the hospital, I don’t want to see any gwee hor…’. The ladies there were so so nice. I really almost felt tears in my eyes. Upon arrival, I hobbled with my red umbrella and was contemplating on a wheelchair. Ya, I would be able to sit, but how to work it? You try la, with your gym bag and shoes and umbrella.

But 2 ladies saw me hobbling and they immediately came up to me and said ‘Miss, do you need a wheelchair?’ AND throughout all that time I was there, I was chaffeured around! I know it’s their job but truthfully, they didn’t have to do it so willingly and with such a big smile. I came into contact with 7 staff members of AH that night. 5 were smiley and friendly and cheerful, 1 had a horrible black face and 1 was weird.

The horrible black face who did not even acknowledge me, just WHISKED me off in my wheelchair like in a wheelchair race down the corridor, did not even talk, just gave me a horrible black face like ‘I was having a nice quiet evening, and you had to come disturb me’ was Chinese. In the partition next to her was another Chinese doctor who I did not meet, but I overheard the conversation he had with a patient with an eye patch. "So le ai pak jiam mai? Ai ma? AI MAI?" Like "Do you bloody want the injection or not, don’t waste my time!". I think some doctors, especially INTERNS or MOs or whatever they’re called before they turn "real" doctors, should be more compassionate. Come on, this guy has an eye patch. And you think people really have nothing better to do but to visit a hospital at midnight?

The weird one shouted "HELLO!" to me when I went into the room BEFORE I got into the room, sent me for an X-ray without even looking at me, and looked at my X-ray and immediately said ‘no broken bones. Torn ligaments’. Without even looking at my leg ok? Without even explaining what happened, or how long I would need to recover, what I could or could not do (I had to ask), and just bounced away smiling to himself like he was a smurf. He too, was Chinese.

The 5 wonderful friendly ladies were Indians. They took the time to explain things to me, made sure I was comfortable, ensured my foot was never in the way when they helped me get out of and into the wheelchair, made sure they were gentle whenever they had to touch my foot. It made me very very ashamed that words like "mama" and "k’leng" are so common in our everyday language, said like these people are of a lower status than us.

Whatever the demographic studies have shown about their income or education or social ‘class’, I think they are a very misunderstood bunch. OK given that some oils they use may not sit well in our noses, but I think we poison the rest of Singapore as much with our burnings of paper money and our noisy funerals.

I think we really have to take a look at ourselves once in a while to make sure that we’re not looking down on others. Let’s not wait for something to happen to force us to be better people.

BTW, the latest FAll fashion range (get it? FALL fashion?):

And the horrible orh cheh!

I thought I would go for an express pedicure over lunch. My toes weren’t horrible but I’m going for my little op on Thursday on my ankle so the next pedi would be a long way more. And I really don’t want to have horrible toes for so long! (yes, yes, vain, I know).

So I walk over to Anchorpoint during lunch and tell myself oh better be careful, it’s raining, and the ground is slippery. And at that moment I slip on the stairs, land with a damn loud thud, and plop plop plopped down 3 steps. It was DAMN painful.

I sat there for a while in shock but thought ’shit, the steps are wet, I don’t want my jeans to soak through’. So I decided to go take a seat at the bus stop to rest. The walk there was terrible and by the time I got to the bus stop, I was almost in tears.

Then I see the office cleaning auntie coming down the stairs and she looked at me, which somehow made the pain worse.

She: Le an zhua zhe hi tao? Tan chia ah?

(Why are you sitting there? Are you waiting for a bus?)

Me : Wa buak doh! (I mouthed the words cos somehow the voice just didn’t come out)

(I fell down!)

She: Har? Ai ta chia ke to loh?

(Huh? Where are you taking the bus to?)

Me: WA BUAK DOH!

(I FELL DOWN!)

She: Le ai ke Anchorpoint jiak ah?

(You want to go Anchorpoint to eat ah?)

Me: (giving up) Ah, dio dio…

(Ah, right, right)

So after I thought everything was OK, I hobbled to my pedicure place (yes, I was determined) and sat there for half an hour.

After I tell my friends about the fall, they tell me that ops usually don’t allow nails to be painted. SHIT! But I think I should check with my doctor first in case he says can, after I remove the polish, and that would so be a double shit situation.

Fast forward 3 hours (within which, a kind colleague put a cold compress on my ankle which I then re-used for my thigh, I repeat the story at least 10 times to kaypoh colleagues asking why I was limping, clarified with the cleaning auntie that I wasn’t going to Anchorpoint for lunch, and declined the generous offer to use the company’s wheelchair). Hunger struck me. So I went to the IKEA restaurant to get a chicken pie (yes it sells more than just meatballs).

A little girl is in front of me with her mum. She (the girl) is jumping. And she lands…. out of all the space in the world… on my foot. The one that has just gone through some trauma. I screamed out, not in pain, but as a reflex action. She stopped jumping, went in front of her mum, and her mum looked at me and gave me the "Siao ah. Huat ga ah neh dua sia cho simi?" (Crazy ah, shout so loud for what) look. No apologies from either bitches.

But then again, if she had asked me "So, what, you want my daughter to apologise to you?", what could I have said? "I’m not hard up for your apology, but I think I deserve it"?. Or just outright "Yes"? That would have made me the bad guy, right?

Dammit.

Dad, Dylan and Mum came to meet me for lunch today. It was nice to see them for an impromptu lunch without having the pains of arranging a dinner out on a weekend for all 7 family members.

Halfway through the lunch I get a call on my personal mobile number from a student from X Poly. "Hello, Adora, I got your number from your Call Centre, can you help us with our project please?"

I’m shocked cos I’m rather sure (on second thought, actually, not quite) that our Call Centre would not give out 1. our  2. personal numbers. Anyway I give the standard reply and hang up but it still bugged me.

So I call the Call Centre and say please do me a big favour, I’d like to make a request - I think it’s very reasonable to not give out my personal number to any Tom, Dick or Harry who calls.

Because seriously, today it may be ONE student, tomorrow it may be ten, and if it goes on, I may have to spend my Christmas lunch explaining to ad hoc callers that we don’t need another ad agency/media buying house/printer/florist/paper supplier etc.

Guy from Call Centre says no no of course I respect that it’s your personal line and I would never give anyone your number. OK fair enough. But someone somewhere is lying. I trust my department enough to know they would never do this. We cover each other this way. But I really can’t be sure about anyone else.

But the best part is, the first call was from a girl during my lunch. An hour later, this guy calls (prompting this post), saying ‘Hi Adora, I think there’s been some kind of mistake. Maybe we didn’t explain clearly-’. I usually don’t cut people off and I’m usually not curt (takes a whole lot of control, I tell you) but I was curt and I cut him off and I said ‘WHO are you??!’. "Oh, I’m Andy" (just Andy. I’m supposed to immediately identify who you are and where you’re calling from and what it’s about is it? I only get ONE call a day is it? The world only got one Andy is it?)

So Andy says "I think we never explain properly. What we really want is bla bla bla".

Please, if you want to ask for help, ask for it properly. I really don’t remember being a Poly student and being so (pardon the language) STUPID.

You call an organisation asking for help and you make that call on someone’s HANDPHONE? Come on please! If you need help from PAP for instance and you find you have Minister Goh’s home number, would you call?

As a student I remembered I always tried to sound smart so that people (older ones especially) would take me more seriously. Students these days call and say "I err…. Wait ah…. Err…" Eh come on, please don’t be stupid!!!

Like my father would say, use some cow sense.

Some common things I get and absolutely cannot stand:

- But it’s only 1/2/5/20 questions.

Yes but it’s 1/2/5/20 questions for YOU. Multiply that by the number of calls, emails, faxes, letters I get. Quite significant isn’t it? Unless your multiplication is bad too?

- You mean your company so big, don’t have anyone who can answer my questions meh?

I think everyone’s employed for a reason, and none of our job scopes has ’sit around and wait for people to call to ask questions’

- I’m your GM’s friend. Give me his handphone number.

If you’re his friend, you would HAVE his number, right? Sometimes they can’t even tell me their FRIEND’s name.

- Hi I’m just in your area, can I pop by?

No, please don’t pop by because I’m not just sitting at my desk twiddling my thumbs waiting for some action and I’m not a fan of popping.

Sometimes best. They call and they ask for help but they don’t check first. They don’t check if the information is available elsewhere. They think that 6378 1611 is the magical number to call when they need answers to everything.

And when I direct them to our very informative (thanks, Joz) website, they have the cheek to say ‘Oh you have a website?’.

Like my father would say "Open your eyes before you open your mouth".

It’s Christmas, but it’s still not a good enough excuse for sheer common sense.

When I was a kid, I thought the song "Smooth Operator" was about a telephone operator.

Anyway, I had a very frustrating operator experience earlier:

I’m sending out christmas cards (haha yeah, so
late) and one of them is to our most famous competitor (diam diam hor,
you know I know can liao hor. Let’s call them ABC company). So I needed
to get their postal code. Check their website, dun have. Call their company,
nobody pick up. I’m put on hold for 20 mins waiting for a human voice but it never comes.

Thought I’d try much luck and call 100. Just in case. But they say they can’t help BUT can give me a phone number that can. Wow! A phone
system that you can call to find out postal codes! So amazing!!!

So I call 1800
8427678 with high hopes.

It’s one of those automated kind where you speak and
the ‘operator’ (with an irritatingly sweet voice) can pick up your
voice tones. My conversation for your viewing pleasure:

Postal
service: Hello!

Me: Hel-

Postal service: I can look for a postal code by building name or street
name. Would you like me to look by building name or street name?

Me: buil-

Postal service: Please say ‘building name’ or ’street name’. 

Me: ABC buil-

Postal service: Please say it clearly like ‘Suntec. City. Convention. Centre’

Me: ABC. Building

Postal service: I’m sorry, did you say ‘Tampines Mall?’

Me: no …ABC-

Postal service: Please speak clearly and say the building name. 

Me: ABC building

(my colleague gives me the ‘Why are you talking like a robot?’ look)

Postal service: If you don’t know, say ‘I don’t know!’

(note to reader: Not just "I don’t know", but you have to say it with an irritatingly happy voice like you’re an elf in an enchanted forest skipping along your way to find some berries)

Me: ABC BUILDING

Postal service: I’m sorry, did you say ‘Raffles City?

After another couple of minutes of this silly conversation I finally give up

IThen
i decided to try ABC company hotline again. After another 10 mins of listening to classical music, (all their operators go out for lunch is it?) the customer
service lady says ‘Hello this is XXX from ABC, may I know who is
speaking please?’

Wow. Simply amazing. Icing on the cake. I must be a virgin in the call centre industry cos it was the first time for me, for an enquiry hotline to ask a caller who’s calling. 

She finally gave me the postal code. But only after I gave her my name AND company. I said IKEA very clearly. And more than ever, I’m proud to be working for IKEA, and not ABC Stout

wah biang. just so we can send our competitor a christmas card. tor huey ah….

There’s a Christmas show on tv starting Tim Allen. He’s supposed to be Santa Claus. Normally I wouldn’t watch this kind of adult show targetted at kids that only get played once a year, but when your husband is out of town, and it’s raining and you don’t feel like going out, you don’t really have much choice.

So it’s a typical American show. Rebellious teenager, single parent trying to find love but has bad dress sence, Christmas time, children acting smart and adults acting stupid, and finally the happy ending.

Of course Tim Allen is Santa Claus. He’s American. Americans are all heroes aren’t they? Superman is American, isn’t he? Americans win all the wars, don’t they? They have the power to do everything, even make or break Christmas.

Christmas is such a powerful season. It can make you feel so so lucky to be surrounded by the ones you love, or so so lonely because you’re … alone.

But all that said and done, only 11 more days to go till I pick Max up at the airport! It may be the 28th but heck, we’ll just postpone Christmas till then

Remember the brand Second Chance? I remember the commercial. A man pushing a woman in a shopping cart in an open air car park.

Sometimes we want to give ourselves a second chance but others don’t. Max decided to leave all his bank cards and credit cards with me since he would have his Canadian cards to use in Montreal and they’re right next to me now at the computer table. The glare of the shiney bird flying is blinding me.

Max has been here one year, and I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve contributed to the society since I graduated from Poly. Max has received 3 credit cards, courtesy of Citibank, and I have 2, courtesy of my dad. Before you start pointing fingers at me and say ‘walau you also what, live off your father, still dare to say other people’, just hold your tongue for one second while I explain that 1. they were birthday gifts (21 and 22 years old respectively), 2. the gifts were the physical pieces of plastic because I pay back whatever I spend.

I love Max, I love my dad, and there’s nothing wrong with them or anyone else being eligible to apply for credit cards. But it’s a damn shitty feeling when my applications have been rejected time and time again because of the stupid Jason car loan bad debt thingie.

And it’s really not that card that counts cos I don’t mind paying cash and I can survive wherever there is NETS. But why the bloody hell should I be missing out on all the goodies and 15% discounts of this and buy-one-get-one-free of that. Why don’t I get special hotel rates or be able to earn points to exchange for cool stuff huh? How come I can’t get to enjoy the free spas and gym memberships?

Sometimes I go to a shop and the salesgirls look down on me cos they ask "Are you a Citibank card holder?" and I say no (I’m an IKEA friends member, can?) and they give me that look. You know, THAT look. The look that only salesgirls can give because they think they’re better than you just cos they work in a shop that sells expensive things but they forget that you’re the customer and they’re serving you.

If there can be a government initiated project such as the yellow ribbon one for ex offenders, how much more should people with "bad credit history" be shunned? Since there is a ribbon for everything anyway, so why not maybe a purple one for people like me? Dammit, I’m a victim too! Are you listening, bank people?

Really la. The things some government agencies ask really make me feel that they think we’re stupid. For example. Did you know that if you want to buy a 3-room flat from HDB, your household income must be less than $3,000? For a 4-room flat, your household income must be less than $8,000.

So what they’re saying is the more you earn, the bigger your house MUST be. Or else you buy resale flat, or condo, or landed, then they don’t care. So what the hell. Is it earn more money then must buy big house? If Max and I like to stay in a 3-room flat, CANNOT - IT’S AGAINST THE LAW.

Why would Singaporeans need bigger flats anyway? 3-generation homes? You think young couples who have lived with their parents their whole lives would want to invite their parents to live with them? To have big families? With 44 hour weeks, who has the time to create these babies to grow into children to live in these rooms?

Just found out yesterday that our block is going to be en-bloc-ed. Which means we have to get out soon. Which is perfect timing cos our 2 year lease is almost up and we were thinking whether or not to extend. We were then thinking of maybe renting one of those really nice short walk-up apartments at Tiong Bahru. Anyone got kangtao? Then this came up so it really means we have to leave good ole Ghim Moh.

And while looking on HDB’s website to find out more about these lovely apartments, I find out that under the walk-in selection, you can actually get your key in 3 months! Now that’s an idea! If I buy it (with the CPF money that I can’t use anyway), then when we leave, at least we can rent it out and get some income yes? No, because it would have to be a bigger unit which we would have no use of. 

Why can’t they just make 3-room flats but with bigger rooms? Any smart alec ever thought of that? Then maybe people won’t have to buy 4 room flats and knock down one wall for their walk in wardrobe.

Anyway, back to the topic of stupidity. Some years ago, I applied for a job at I really don’t remember which govt agency. There were the usual ‘have you been in jail’ and ‘have you been declared bankrupt’ questions, which were fine. And then there was "Do you have a tattoo? If yes, please state place and describe design". Why the hell do they know if you have a tattoo or not? Is it going to affect your work?

Come on please, we can think. We may be proud, loud-mouthed maid ill-treaters, but we’re not stupid ok? Please, if you want an intelligent nation so that you won’t have to keep justify bringing in foreign talent, then start treating us as intelligent individuals. We can make some decisions on our own ok?

PS I want a 3-room flat with alot of windows and parquet flooring.

Went to see the doc today about my fever. She said "You do not have a fever". Right, so you’re telling me that I don’t just feel hot and cold, and my nose is not blocked, and I’m imagining my cough and sore throat. Must be your themometer spoil ok? But she gave me an MC for today anyway, and I slept all afternoon with my phone off (so wonderful) and a towel over my face.

The doc asked about my eye. She’s the real company doc. The other 2 that I saw were her stand ins. She said "Confirmed it’s pterygium, I’m 100% sure. Even if you see the specialist, that’s what he’s going to say". But I think I’m going to see the specialist anyway, just to be 200% sure.

For those of you who did not know, my eye is causing me some distress. IThere’s like a little bump/bubble on the white. It doesn’t hurt but it’s my eye so of course I’m concerned. So I went to see the doc. Who wasn’t around so there were the usual stand-ins.

I’m really pissed that the other 2 doctors gave me information that was all over the place, and made me worry for nothing, AND made me spend 4 hours waiting in the poly clinic to get a referreal letter to see the eye specialist on 26 JANUARY 2007.

So anyway I did a bit of research (btw it is not as scary as some of the pics shown on the web. just like a little bump on my eye white). Thought I would share it with you guys who are contact lens users.

What is a pterygium?
A pterygium is fleshy tissue that grows in a triangular shape over the cornea (the transparent part or front window of the eyeball). It may grow large enough to interfere with vision.

A pterygium most commonly occurs on the inner corner of the eye, with its apex towards the pupil, but also may appear on the outer corner.

What causes pterygium?
The exact cause is not well understood. Long-term exposure to sunlight, especially ultraviolet (UV) rays, and chronic eye irritation from dry; dusty conditions seem to play an important role. Hence Pterygium occurs more often in people who spend a
great deal of time outdoors, especially in sunny climates. A dry eye may contribute to pterygium as well.

How is pterygium treated?
When a pterygium becomes red and irritated, eye drops or ointments, which can be spread in the eye, may be used to smooth the inflammation. Large enough pterygia that threatens sight, grows or is unsightly, can be removed surgically.

It may occur that despite proper surgical removal the pterygium returns. That affects particularly young people. To help prevent recurrences surface radiation or medications are sometimes used.

Wearing UV protective sunglasses and avoiding dry and dusty conditions as well as the use of artificial tears may also help.

So what they’re actually saying is: Live in a dark, clean cave