I had a “Do you know who I am moment today?” A
chubby, sweaty - and as it turned out obnoxious man nearly bowled over a couple
of demure little Singaporean ladies at lunchtime today. He was endeavouring to
push into a queue that I was a part of. I witnessed the whole saga and it
enraged me.
Then I
intervened.
Queuing is a
national pastime in Singapore and the natives and we expatriates are quite used
to it. The locals love it actually and will queue for hours for anything that
is discounted or free.
There is great order in the
Singaporean queue. It is magnificent in its discipline and its control. It
oozes forbearance and there is generally complete composure.
There are no ants in the
pants for those in these concatenations.
It is my belief that this
passion for queuing is born from the Singaporean desire to hunt for a bargain -
no matter the cost. The duration of the wait is of no consequence. I have -
with great admiration - witnessed lines of dozens of people impassively waiting
for up to an hour to receive a free biscuit - offered with any purchase of a
grande latte.
Or a cappuccino.
I have observed with
astonishment, and great approbation - a long snaking queue of people line up to
receive the gift of a pencil - with any spend of more than ten dollars. I have
beheld the visible delectation of Singaporeans basking in the glory of
receiving an upsize of their fries after cashing in a coupon that has been
carefully cut from the morning newspaper.
In Singapore there would is
no finer a fare than a gratuitous feast. There is no greater a gift than a
complimentary token.
No matter how
long the wait.
Today though the
lunchtime queue for a sandwich was unsettled by a rotund English dude who was
wearing an immaculate and I assume tailor made suit. There are no off-the-rack
suits for such fat little fellas. He was all red-faced and hot and I assume that
he was a visitor to our shores for very few residents here wear jackets and
ties.
It is simply too
hot.
The nasty little
man came charging into the shop and he simply stepped into the front of the
queue just as the demure little ladies were moving forward. One of them was
jolted and she bumped into the other and they both nearly fell over. He didn’t
apologize or indeed comment at all. He stared intently at the overhead menu
while my mind rapidly processed the event and the rage within me began.
The little ladies
didn’t do anything of course. By nature Singaporeans are diffident and demure
and they don’t like conflict. They are impeccably mannered and it is a trait
that I normally like very much.
Not so in this instance.
“Hey you”
I exclaimed.
Nothing.
“Excuse me”
I said and tapped the dude on the shoulder.
He turned around
and glared at me. He looked vaguely familiar but the English look all the same
to me. He was balding, pasty and had a most annoying look of superiority on his
face.
“What?”
he spat.
“Get to the back of the queue dude” I replied in an even and controlled
tone.
“I am late for a meeting” he replied with contempt.
“Give a fuck”
I responded.
A bit of a hush
had descended in the shop now and I could sense there was going to be an
altercation.
Then he dropped
the big one.
“Do you know who I am?”
I gave him a good
belly laugh - an exaggerated one. My grandpa taught me when I was little that
there is nothing like laughing at self-righteous people who annoy you.
It drives them
crazy.
“Do you know who I am?” he repeated.
“You appear to be a rude dude with a weight problem, very
poor manners and an identity crisis,”
I suggested.
“Remove yourself to the back of the queue immediately,” I added.
There was a brief
moment of silence and tension then and I was unsure what would happen next.
In my mind I had already set him on fire.
I am a lover not a fighter but I thought that I could take this bloke and I momentarily considered whether to go on the attack. I was actually carrying a plastic bag in which were two delightful kippers that my English friend Chris had bought all the way back from London for me. The thought entered my mind whether to whack him in the face with one.
In my mind I had already set him on fire.
I am a lover not a fighter but I thought that I could take this bloke and I momentarily considered whether to go on the attack. I was actually carrying a plastic bag in which were two delightful kippers that my English friend Chris had bought all the way back from London for me. The thought entered my mind whether to whack him in the face with one.
A kipper slap.
I decided to
wait.
Mr.
do-you-know-who-I-am turned red and then purple then he looked around and saw
what a scene that he had created. The expressions of the Singaporeans that
surrounded us were hard to read. They were mostly locals who are generally
impassive.
He then demanded
what my name was.
I in turn asked
him what his name was and then enquired whether he had an ipseity problem.
This was again heeding
the advice of my grandpa in dealing with conflict and bullies. He told me to repeat
whatever they say as it will normally confuse and confound them - and use words
that they will not know the meaning of.
Ipseity is a
sense of self. It is who we are.
“Do you know who I am?” the foolish fat fucker repeated yet again.
“Do you know who I am?” I returned in mock laughter.
“Go to the back Jack” I added and I nodded my head to the rear of the queue.
We stared off for
what was likely only a few seconds but it seemed like minutes. I have lived on
the Island for many years now and have mastered the stare. The abhorrent man then
made a huffing noise before he turned on his heel and left the shop.
What a fucker.
What a fucker.
I then asked the
demure little ladies if they were all right and they both smiled and told me
that they were.
It was then my
turn to be served and I walked up to the counter and ordered myself a chicken
and mayonnaise sandwich on rye bread with just a little bit of lettuce and lots
of salt and pepper.
The very nice
chap gave it to me for free.
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