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Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Had a bad experience recently. Went to a hawker centre and well, what happened is described in the following story. True storee!!
The blazing orb of the sun hung in the sky, baking me within my clothes and raising the temperature to unholy heights. I fanned myself limply with my hand, resulting in a sluggish movement of superheated air. Just as I was about to give up in despair, I saw a structure in front of me; though I could barely see details through the blinding glare of light around me, I could discern the shape of a hawker centre. I would have sobbed in relief if I had any water to spare for tears, and stumbled towards the blessed shade its awnings offered.
Darkness washed over me, shielding me from the merciless heat of the sun, and I could not choke back a sob of thankfulness. For a moment, I closed my eyes, savoring the luscious shade and the respite offered by the gently-approving hum of the fans. Then I opened my eyes and my heart sank. The floor was grainy with dirt, in the manner that only exceedingly unclean public floors can be. Foul soapy effluent ran in the gutters, a filthy brown beneath the bubbly exterior. Uncollected dishes crowded on the tables, sauce pooling beneath them like abandoned corpses on a battlefield of synthetic plastic. The only thing that was remotely clean here were the seats, which merely meant that they had little bits of food which could be brushed off.
With a sniff of distaste, I wielded my tissue paper to devastating effect among the scraps of food, and I could almost hear their screams as they were swept off the seats to plunge to their death on the dirty floor. This settled, I swept my gaze over the hawker centre, taking in the derelict old men that made up both the customers and the vendors. I wasn’t spoiled for choice, as not many stalls were open to begin with, and one that was open had a vendor who was applying his finger to the inside of his nose with admirable zeal. His stall was discounted immediately. Eventually I purchased a plate of fried rice and a gloriously cold Ice Milo, and sat down to eat.
However, no sooner had I picked up my utensils when I noticed they were oily. I was considerably puzzled, as I had not touched them since they were put on my tray at the side of my plate. Suddenly, it hit me! This negligent specimen of Man had not washed his utensils and had the nerve to give them to me, a paying customer! I stalked up to the vendor. "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS FILTHY CROCKERY!" I roared. I could feel the anger pounding through my veins like molten steel, a terrible earth-shaking, sky-shattering rage that threatened to engulf the puny hawker in front of me in a whirling maelstrom of fury. The little man in front of me gibbered ineffectually, and consumed by fury, I punched him in the throat. He fell back with a strangled scream, clutching at his crushed windpipe, and everyone stared in horror. “Anyone else want to give me dirty crockery?” My shout boomed across the centre, but only silence greeted me. Full of righteous anger, I grabbed a pair of chopsticks and rammed them into the chest of the nearest hawker. He gave a choked cry and crumpled, clutching at the twin sticks of death jabbing into his ribs.
The rest of the hawkers must have taken this as some sort of sign, and they scattered, screaming in their arcane dialect. I launched myself from where I stood, landing on a nearby table and scattering bowls and laksa soup in all directions. With a feral growl, I leaped from the table and landed on the back of a running man. He let out a thin wail of terror as I landed on his back, the Avatar of Fury, the Embodiment of the Indignant Customer. I grabbed his head and wrenched it violently, hearing a crack as his skull detached from the spine, and his head wobbled crazily as his body fell. I noted with displeasure that the remaining three hawkers were rapidly leaving my range, so I grabbed a handful of knives from the utensil tray outside the Western Food Stall. The blades were unwashed, so much the better, guaranteeing an infected wound. I hurled three in rapid succession at fleeing backs of the last three vendors. The knives gleamed foully with a dirty light as the afternoon sun caught the metal, and time seemed to slow as the knives spun towards their targets, scattering bits of lettuce and breaded fish as they sliced through the air. The first one buried itself in the flesh of the neck, and the coward went down without a whimper. The second one hit the kidneys of the next man, and he went down with a pained cry. The last one fell low and impaled the last man in the meat of his thigh, and he fell down with a despairing wail.
As I walked up to him, he gibbered and pleaded, trying to drag his crippled weight away from me. I’m sure I must have made a fearsome sight, stained knives clutched in my hands, froth dripping from my grinning mouth, madness shining from my eyes. I granted this whimpering creature in front of me a quick death, and speared his heart with one of the knives I was holding. There were no other hawkers left alive. Slowly, I walked back to the hawker centre and rummaged through the bodies until I found a lighter and a cigarette. Picking up a heavy cleaver from the Duck Rice stall, I used its solid wooden handle and bashed the control valve on the main gas line. There was an ominous hissing as the lethal gas started escaping, and as I walked away, I lit the cigarette with the lighter and tossed it backwards. There was a moment’s silence, then a whooshing boom as the main gas lines ignited, destroying the hawker centre. I never looked back once as I turned away from this place that dared to serve me a dirty spoon.
Yeah baybee. I swear this is true, as firmly rooted in the truth as the Invisible Pink Unicorns. You can also find this on www.getberniced.blogspot.com, where it was also written by me. Man, I'm so humble I'm proud of it.
The blazing orb of the sun hung in the sky, baking me within my clothes and raising the temperature to unholy heights. I fanned myself limply with my hand, resulting in a sluggish movement of superheated air. Just as I was about to give up in despair, I saw a structure in front of me; though I could barely see details through the blinding glare of light around me, I could discern the shape of a hawker centre. I would have sobbed in relief if I had any water to spare for tears, and stumbled towards the blessed shade its awnings offered.
Darkness washed over me, shielding me from the merciless heat of the sun, and I could not choke back a sob of thankfulness. For a moment, I closed my eyes, savoring the luscious shade and the respite offered by the gently-approving hum of the fans. Then I opened my eyes and my heart sank. The floor was grainy with dirt, in the manner that only exceedingly unclean public floors can be. Foul soapy effluent ran in the gutters, a filthy brown beneath the bubbly exterior. Uncollected dishes crowded on the tables, sauce pooling beneath them like abandoned corpses on a battlefield of synthetic plastic. The only thing that was remotely clean here were the seats, which merely meant that they had little bits of food which could be brushed off.
With a sniff of distaste, I wielded my tissue paper to devastating effect among the scraps of food, and I could almost hear their screams as they were swept off the seats to plunge to their death on the dirty floor. This settled, I swept my gaze over the hawker centre, taking in the derelict old men that made up both the customers and the vendors. I wasn’t spoiled for choice, as not many stalls were open to begin with, and one that was open had a vendor who was applying his finger to the inside of his nose with admirable zeal. His stall was discounted immediately. Eventually I purchased a plate of fried rice and a gloriously cold Ice Milo, and sat down to eat.
However, no sooner had I picked up my utensils when I noticed they were oily. I was considerably puzzled, as I had not touched them since they were put on my tray at the side of my plate. Suddenly, it hit me! This negligent specimen of Man had not washed his utensils and had the nerve to give them to me, a paying customer! I stalked up to the vendor. "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS FILTHY CROCKERY!" I roared. I could feel the anger pounding through my veins like molten steel, a terrible earth-shaking, sky-shattering rage that threatened to engulf the puny hawker in front of me in a whirling maelstrom of fury. The little man in front of me gibbered ineffectually, and consumed by fury, I punched him in the throat. He fell back with a strangled scream, clutching at his crushed windpipe, and everyone stared in horror. “Anyone else want to give me dirty crockery?” My shout boomed across the centre, but only silence greeted me. Full of righteous anger, I grabbed a pair of chopsticks and rammed them into the chest of the nearest hawker. He gave a choked cry and crumpled, clutching at the twin sticks of death jabbing into his ribs.
The rest of the hawkers must have taken this as some sort of sign, and they scattered, screaming in their arcane dialect. I launched myself from where I stood, landing on a nearby table and scattering bowls and laksa soup in all directions. With a feral growl, I leaped from the table and landed on the back of a running man. He let out a thin wail of terror as I landed on his back, the Avatar of Fury, the Embodiment of the Indignant Customer. I grabbed his head and wrenched it violently, hearing a crack as his skull detached from the spine, and his head wobbled crazily as his body fell. I noted with displeasure that the remaining three hawkers were rapidly leaving my range, so I grabbed a handful of knives from the utensil tray outside the Western Food Stall. The blades were unwashed, so much the better, guaranteeing an infected wound. I hurled three in rapid succession at fleeing backs of the last three vendors. The knives gleamed foully with a dirty light as the afternoon sun caught the metal, and time seemed to slow as the knives spun towards their targets, scattering bits of lettuce and breaded fish as they sliced through the air. The first one buried itself in the flesh of the neck, and the coward went down without a whimper. The second one hit the kidneys of the next man, and he went down with a pained cry. The last one fell low and impaled the last man in the meat of his thigh, and he fell down with a despairing wail.
As I walked up to him, he gibbered and pleaded, trying to drag his crippled weight away from me. I’m sure I must have made a fearsome sight, stained knives clutched in my hands, froth dripping from my grinning mouth, madness shining from my eyes. I granted this whimpering creature in front of me a quick death, and speared his heart with one of the knives I was holding. There were no other hawkers left alive. Slowly, I walked back to the hawker centre and rummaged through the bodies until I found a lighter and a cigarette. Picking up a heavy cleaver from the Duck Rice stall, I used its solid wooden handle and bashed the control valve on the main gas line. There was an ominous hissing as the lethal gas started escaping, and as I walked away, I lit the cigarette with the lighter and tossed it backwards. There was a moment’s silence, then a whooshing boom as the main gas lines ignited, destroying the hawker centre. I never looked back once as I turned away from this place that dared to serve me a dirty spoon.
Yeah baybee. I swear this is true, as firmly rooted in the truth as the Invisible Pink Unicorns. You can also find this on www.getberniced.blogspot.com, where it was also written by me. Man, I'm so humble I'm proud of it.
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