mom says, "do NOT talk to strangers"

Gawd Oreo!
Now, that’s the problem with everything sweet.
It gets under your skin.
It pounds on your temples … yet you ask for more.
It kills you … but the temptation takes over all senses.

why am I desiring thee now?
Could be the bad chai the tea lady makes.
I get a headache – woo-sie is the word – at the 3rd sip every single time. 
Yet I look her up. I make my special request. 
“Thick chai,” I would say. “Just like Rehman’s.”
Not that I have a thing for Rehman. He’s the CEO, man. But because only Indians and Pakistani’s know their milk teas. And there’s only one acceptable milk tea – the Indians and Pakistanis’! The English can keep their floating soiled socks milk tea to themselves – ewrrrrkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.
But often I only ask for my special request on special Monday mornings.
Monday mornings where I stand vulnerably in the Board room trying to influence an outcome.
Again, not just any outcome. But my desired outcome. Naturally – no?
So why am I desiring thee now?
I am stuck – say only a third through – a lengthy presentation to the Central Bank.
There’s nothing wrong with the Central Bank. There’s nothing about meeting them that I personally detest. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about the request of the presentation by them.
So what’s wrong?
It’s the presentation.
It’s a hotch potch of my plagiarized slides done whilst I was away … herein lies the problem of network drives, shared drives and folders and servers. There’s no boundaries. There’s no code that says it can’t be shared and obviously you have no grounds to argue when it is termed SHARED drives!!!
But I am not complaining. I’ve survived other organizations where all you had is the server. No external drives. No slots for CDs, DVDs, USB ports, disks … no nothing. Just the server. And justifiably so … whatever being produced 9-to-5 has been paid for and rightfully the organization’s right to material.
So perhaps it’s not so much the presentation per se, the hotch potch badly butchered and put together job aside.
It is the presenter.
Unnecessarily lengthy…
oh well, we know the guy wasn’t born with a succinct gene in his body.
But what we didn’t realize was he obviously did not have a gene that was able to make a distinction between important and informative versus noise and fluff.
I am brought down memory lane … back to the pinafore days sporting a zit or two in plaids.
Sitting on benches and hunch over thick textbooks where the ‘brightest’ of student was the best regurgitate-tor; one that put penguins that had gone to feed in the deep sea to shame. And where the average students in every sense of the word – i.e. incapable of regurgitating or have any sense of ingenuity – will have essays which meets the word requirements by jam-packing them with frivolous examples that ends with the infamous Malaysian “dan lain-lain” or the more ‘brilliant’ ones with the longer variation of “dan lain-lain lagi“.
My body says it’s about 1:42 a.m. now.
I am still on London time … perhaps. It’s hard to tell given that for the past 25 days it had gone through many -8 hrs, -6hrs, -5 hrs, back to -6 hrs, -5 hrs blah2 … ding-dong-ing and shuffling between a total of 13 flights and many unGodly hours to ‘catch’ flights and other modes of transportation.
In any case, the definitive thing is: my body had just gone through 13 hours 40 minutes of airborne-ness with give-and-take 7 hours of land transfers, transit and airport clearance time intercepted with some wifi checking, toilet and refreshment time. It was rewarded with about 5 hours of uninterrupted sleep only …until the stomach bug decided to attack them again.
The ex- says I am (too) dramatic!
Ha! Ha!
What’s new? And as if he didn’t know … and like I know better, he’s a master of stating the obvious at a timely manner just to ruffle my feathers. Ahhh… what a time we had! Splendid! {gritting teeth here}
While being airborne and strapped in with one lousy synthetic 2-1/2 inches thick fabric {which I often wonder it’s purpose coz no restrain is gonna save anyone who’s plunging down the skies in a burning plane}, I had a Cambodian-Brit that hails from Manchester in his mid-60s for company. 
Rather unfortunate I’d say that one is not given much choice in the matter of choosing one’s flight “partner” and where there’s literally no space between the seats, not even one that could possibly create an illusion of an invisible division, I find this form of human shuffling across mass land and ocean space unacceptable. Worse still when I am “stuck”with weirdos who ignores my stony silence and erect posture as indication of:
I DO NOT WANT TO TALK least of all BEFRIEND YOU … by going on and on and on. 
where are the new business class planes that totally isolates everyone?
I had once fleetingly thought that those compartmentalized new seats were tragic as there was no way to meet a filthy rich prince charming or a multiple post IPO techie geek who’d rather stare at binaries way into the night or business moguls that will leave you alone well provided in his harem or … 
Those were the days where I’d lie back bored eating my shrimp cocktail, predicting that the next dish would be gravlax salmon with croutons on a bed of rocket and ice lettuce, followed by pan grilled chicken … wondering why can’t airlines be more creative with their food and update the movies more often than once a month?
Despite the health issues that came with those days {the previous ‘life’} … despite the rampant and frequent pang of loneliness associated with those days {the previous ‘life’} … despite the need of stability that came with those days {the previous ‘life’} … I am actually reconsidering them; frequency increasing with the amount of lecture-rette type ‘meeting’ contact hours I have at work!
Anyways, back to the Cambodian-Brit.
He’s one cunning fox. 
But the one down fall is his Asian values… worrying too much about his grown kids; a tax lawyer age 33 in London who is married to a Malaysian internal auditor for Deutsche, London {makes you wonder what their romantic conversations are like!!!!}, and a daughter who’s in Queensland attached to the public service – transportation to be precise.
Though both are in their 30s, but dad continues to plan his life around them, amongst which includes relocation to Malaysia under the Malaysia My 2nd Home Scheme or Abu Dhabi where son-ny boy has gotten a job offer leaving his wife unemployed and dad busily figuring out investments in apartments and new business ventures to be considered, prospected and financed partly with gold bullion he intends to liquidate.
And how do I know all of this, you asked?
Ahhh…. I do have some spy-ing abilities {if you hadn’t realized by now} and I sure have one heck of the skill in piecing information together – thanks to the days I’ll sit in the corner with a pencil joining all the dots on my puzzle books for kids, hiding from Val who would otherwise abuse me and bully me.
Mr. Cambodian-Brit who worries too much for his kids happens to be someone who quizzes me too much. The kind whom I classify as the: “watch-it! you are probing too much” type of irritating “partner” who sits beside you on the plane and there’s awfully nothing you can do about it – not even throwing him offboard as you’d get killed in the process.

He’d been particularly interested in the MiddleEast. Aspects of working life, conduciveness of bringing up a family, and specific employers to be precise… concentrating particularly on Abu Dhabi. His antenna when on alert at the mention of banking and gold, and he had enquired about the agriculture business potential in Malaysia including financing opportunities, TMRAC adopted by Banks et cetera et cetera.

Whilst I was partly deliberately elusive in my answers, partly how-should-I-know-and-care, like all good spies I had fake sleeping and observed the 2 inch stack of documents he had gone through that endorses my suspicion!
In my weak defense, I had fake sleeping to avoid further grilling and conversation, as well as the repeated request for my name and contact, as I am seriously done talking to strangers especially those past their prime age … well, needless to say he did not fit the profile of the prince, multiple post IPO techie geek or business mogul! :p
See, just a month or more back, I had decided to go for an Ayurvedic facial treatment {if there’s such a thing} while waiting for mom who wanted a full Ayurvedic spa treatment. Concerned, we had opted with Jetwing’s Ayurvedic’s Spa resort and not any dimly lit hole that’s dotted all around Sri Lanka.

Just a sider, there’s something about Sri Lanka and the concept of abundance {or repetition if you like}. They are not content with one ancient civilisation site. They have many. One Buddha or sacred temple with Buddha relic is not adequate. They need many spaced out evenly. And of course, I’ve not seen a country with such high game park / national park to civilisation / cultivation land ratio as Sri Lanka … again well spread out. What’s truly amazing is: Sri Lanka is an ISLAND!!!

Hence, in the larger scale of perspective, there’s nothing overtly strange to have every other structure or respectably made up abode being an Ayurvedic centre or spa in Sri Lanka.


Jetwing Ayurveda Pavilions, Negombo, SRI LANKA (website HERE
To justify the price tag and show the seriousness of the Ayurvedic practice in Sri Lanka, we were first escorted to the Ayurvedic Doctor’s consultation room. Bemused by the idea, I entertained the idea of seriously filling up the consultation card accurately. BIG MISTAKE!!!
Little had I anticipated, this old, shivered man in a white coat sitting in a dingy room lit by a single light bulb and an open window would not let my hand {which I had extended to take blood pressure} go until I yanked it out forcibly after a few minutes of giving up the gentle tug approach!
The dirty old man then requested for an abdominal check-up insisting that it will enable him to prescribe the appropriate herbs and medicinal oil for my facial!
What a farce!
Sure, I have gastronomical issues and I know that it shows on the minor break out on the lower half of my face, as it should, no way in hell am I subjecting any part of my body for inspection by this man … and no way is this man every touching my midriff even if I had been medically pronounced dead!

..Jetwing Ayurveda Pavilions, Negombo, SRI LANKA (website HERE
Noting my strong resistance … and perhaps realizing that in such establishments “the Customer is ALWAYS right” as this is one of those Conde Nast type places, he relented and I proceeded with my facial, requesting that it be done in the same ‘treatment’ room as my mother … with one eye opened throughout the torturous hour, anticipating the worse to come.
Mom, not knowing what had happened in the ‘consultation’ room earlier was mildly annoyed that a male therapist {mine} was allowed into her treatment room with her striped down for massages and wraps. To ease the tension, I lied that he’s an eunuch, which I doubt she believed me one bit.
And if she did, which is also highly plausible as I can be rather persuasive and factual sounding with my bollocks, my heartfelt apologies to all male Ayurvedic therapist if she goes round telling her friends that all male Ayurvedic therapist are eunuch!
As for the sms-es and emails I continue to receive from this ‘doctor’ … oh well, it’s a painful reminder of how naive I can be; leaving actual contacts to strangers and organizations – mom’s “do NOT talk to strangers” advise must be updated to include sub-advises such as:
“do NOT talk to strangers post their prime age
“do NOT leave actual contacts any where”

7 thoughts on “mom says, "do NOT talk to strangers"

  1. OMG!Pepper spray. I'll get you that as your belated birthday present and soon we'll be reading news with photos of Michael Chong and dirty old men complaining about pepper spray attacker!Or maybe a less dangerous birthday present in the form of a neon sign that says:"only filthy rich prince charming or a multiple post IPO techie geek who'd rather stare at binaries way into the night or business moguls that will leave me alone well provided in your harem need apply" lolBut seriously all this experiences must be traumatic and insulting. Can't imagine aunties!!!

  2. yeah PF. tell me about it man! bank account balances!!! rofland the older and dirtier the bigger the balances.our friend's dowry here (ahem) only the billionnaires of the world can afford.(or a cool ruggard photo journal in rags.)

  3. yeah PF. tell me about it man! bank account balances!!! rofland the older and dirtier the bigger the balances.our friend's dowry here (ahem) only the billionnaires of the world can afford.(or a cool ruggard photo journal in rags.)

  4. As Michael Chong says before you wed a beautiful bride, look at yourself in the mirror.In modern day where women are successful as well, men have to look at their bank account balances too!Now Princes, that's tragic.Tragic for men.But yeah all men out there, unless you ARE a "filthy rich prince charming or a multiple post IPO techie geek who'd rather stare at binaries way into the night or business moguls that will leave her alone well provided in your harem " don't bother.Read the blog entry above!roflJooooking only ok?But seriously babe, YOU DESERVE THE BEST.

  5. Agree with John there.Older men then to be bolder and have more confidence. They may not realised its a misplaced confidence when it comes to Princess here so you got to be even firmer with them.Sometimes they think they have the experience and money to 'buy'.;)Oh yeah, we know how wrong they are and yes, misplaced confidence.So, just say NO – loud and clear.Ben

  6. You know, you always get that with strangers. Instead of keeping silent or returning one word responses buck up the courage to just say NO right in their faces.It's safer and its important if you travel alone a lot.Heard about the Russian train incident too, but not in details. We'll have to catch up soon when I'm back.John

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s