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TV Smith's Dua Sen. The politically incorrect irregular columnist combines
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ONE
DAY IN DAMANSARA
by TV Smith
29/10/03
I
had just circled the shopping mall's car park for the two hundred-and-ninth time.
To my relief, a lovey dovey couple suddenly appeared from nowhere and got into
a vehicle parked nearby. I screeched to a halt, did a quick gostan, activated
the turn signals. All done with not a single hint of the turn events that was
to unfold. The couple chatted in the car for ten minutes before starting the engine.
Hey, maybe they were discussing the accuracy of the pregnancy test kit they just
bought and tested (at the washroom), I speculated. I can emphatise with that.
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After starting the
car, the sadistic sicko decided to spend another five minutes adjusting the rear
view and side mirrors, while a traffic jam, three-mile-long, was building up behind
me. My theory: a driver who takes five minute adjusting the mirrors, usually has
a Kopi-O license and never took any reversing lessons. It'll probably take
him another ten minutes or ten maneuvers to get the Kancil out of the spot.
Not wanting to burn out out my poor signal lamp or cause a traffic jam all the
way to the Causeway, I grudgingly moved on.
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This time I was luckier.
I found another parking spot after having circled the car park for just eighty-nine
times. Or so I thought. The spot was being vacated by a family with a supermarket
trolley containing three small bags of groceries and a kid riding along. Either
their vision was severely impaired by excessive wanking during their adolescent
years, or they didn't cared two hoots about the car waiting frantically in front
of them. They took some twenty minutes re-arranging the golf clubs in the boot
so as to fit the tiny plastic bags. After which, the father took another lifetime
folding a baby stroller, ceremoniously but clumsily.
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Why on earth did they bring a stroller for, I wondered? They, like every other
family, were pushing the kid around the entire mall with an empty supermarket
trolley. For crying out loud; the kid looked big enough to carry the damn stroller
on his shoulders. At that moment, I wished I bought that RPG (Rocket Propelled
Grenade) from the Russian hawkers selling night-vision binoculars in Petaling
Street. If only I had, I would be standing there, with the launcher on my shoulder,
echoing the self-gratifying Eastwood catchphrase; "Go ahead, MAKE MY DAY"
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Imageries of a blazing
Perdana and baby stroller blown one hundred metres into the sky soothed
my nerves somehow. I eventually parked at another spot and proceeded to do my
shopping with no further aggravation. Well, almost. I ended up queuing patiently
behind a yuppy-ish family with only a few items in the basket at one of the supermarket
check-out lanes. Then, for no apparent reason, the cashier disappeared. She took
a casual stroll down the aisle and vanished between the shelves. Guess what? The
idiot in front picked up three different items with no price tags or damaged bar
codes. OK, maybe it's not his fault and the cashier needed an unscheduled cigarette
break.
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After ten minutes
or more she returned to finish the transaction. A grand total of 27 ringgit
69 sen. Correct? Yes, but only after the man re-confirmed it with his PDA. The
couple then spent another few minutes debating whether they should use their Visa
or MasterCard. Could they not have discussed that while waiting in line? I guess
not, for they were too busy pretending to shoo their brat off the condom rack.
Just when I thought my ordeal was finally over, the wife wasted another five minutes
searching for the all important life-saving loyalty card, buried somewhere in
her handbag. That was it. I don't know what got over me. I shoved a can of Campbell's
chicken soup up her posterior, clobbered the husband with a frozen lamb shank
and wrapped a Durex around the kid's head...
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And that was how I
ended back at the Mike Tyson School of Anger Management.
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© 2003 TV SMITH
Link to this article: http://www.tvsmith.net.my/duasen/291003_oneday.html
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