Tinker, Tailor

I’ve been jaywalking a lot these days.

I used to walk to the nearest pedestrian crossing if it’s within 30 metres. I used to wait for the lights to turn green before crossing the road if I’m at the junction. Yes, I was just like any typical law-abiding Singaporean.

Maybe it’s all the indoctrination I received as a kid. From the school, from the parental elements - they made me believe that crossing the road is a risky procedure, and that following traffic rules ensures that all is and remains well on planet earth. Or at least on Singapore roads.

Then one day I saw the light. Jaywalking isn’t as bad as they claim it to be. Maybe jaywalking isn’t a good idea if you’re a young kid, but it’s definitely a good idea if you’re a normal healthy adult.

Here’s why:

1. Jaywalking saves time. Every time you wait at the junction for the lights to turn green, precious seconds are ticking away. On your deathbed, you’d be wishing that you spent your time more wisely, rather than waiting like a fool at the junction.

2. Jaywalking is exciting. I often hear people complain that Singapore’s a boring place. Pure bull. Imagine a car 10 metres from you driving straight towards you at 100 kilometres per hour while flashing its headlights. Is that not exciting?

3. Jaywalking is convenient and inexpensive. Sure, reverse bungee-jumping is exciting as well, but can you afford to do it everyday? For jaywalking, you can do it almost everywhere - near your home, near your school, near your workplace. And it’s cheap too! Sure, you may have to pay for it, but that’s extremely rare. And even if you do, it’s still cheaper than reverse bungee-jumping on average.

4. Jaywalking is liberating. After all these years of blind conformance to rules and regulations, you have become like a caged animal. When the door of the cage is opened, it doesn’t occur to you to step out. But remember: you were born free. You weren’t born to be bound by the shackles of stifling rules and regulations - you were born to roam free. You were born to jaywalk.

5. Jaywalking builds confidence and self-esteem. Confidence and self-esteem is important for success. I’m not sure if any research has been done on this, but I’m certain that research will show that jaywalkers tend to be more successful in their careers and have better sex lives.

6. Jaywalking lowers risk of heart disease. Besides career and “interpersonal” gains, jaywalkers, due to the constant excitement, eventually learn to be calm. Because they are used to 1 tonne vehicles screeching beside them and drivers hurling loud words at them, stressful situations in life, like the boss firing them, or catching the wife in bed with another woman, are seen in perspective. Blood pressure doesn’t rise, heart rate remains constant, and the stressful situation is soon over, just like you eventually reach the other side of the road.

7. Jaywalking keeps you alert, and keeps you from becoming complacent. Complacency has become a serious problem in Singapore, which is why dangerous terrorists can escape. When you jaywalk, you don’t take for granted that the car will stop for you. If those prison guards were jaywalkers, you think Mas Selamat could have escaped?

8. Jaywalking keeps drivers alert, and keeps them from becoming complacent. Obviously, drivers have to keep a lookout for you when they drive. Yes, you don’t just benefit yourself, others benefit from you jaywalking too.

9. Jaywalking makes it hard to tail you. Whether you’re a cheating husband or a spy, jaywalking is a good method to keep private investigators or undercover cops from tailing you. When you perform a death-defying jaywalk, it would be very dumb of them to follow you across the road - they risk getting spotted by you, even if they’re not hit by a car.

10. Jaywalking impresses your date. Think about it - your date has probably gone through 10 other dates before you, all of them have been dull and boring, and she is just about to archive you under the “dull and boring” folder when you hold her by her arm and walk into oncoming traffic. After the surround sound of horns and screeches mingled with her screams has subsided, and after she eventually calms down a little, she’ll feel forever indebted to you for snatching her from the jaws of death, while displaying incredible bravery and sangfroid. Perfect timing to give her a comforting embrace if she’s not already wrapped around you. Be careful though - she might take advantage of the opportunity to tear off your clothing.

The hot weather these days is driving me nuts.

Dear Wayne,

I hope you’re not bearing a grudge since my last confession to you.

Yes, I have another confession and apology to make.

You may recall Chemistry, particularly the times we were in the lab.

If I remember correctly, you had one of the best Chemistry grades. I, on the other hand, was more interested in conducting my own experiments in the lab.

So if you looked at my Chemistry workbook, you would have noticed that many of the pages had stains of different colours - blue, purple, red, yellow, etc. There was even some stain that had silver glitters from some iodine compound.

Yeah, I enjoyed “spilling” coloured solutions onto my workbook, for future reference.

Speaking of spilling, remember the time when there was a lot of sizzling and smoke coming out from the corner of the lab? Yeah, I “spilled” concentrated hydrochloric acid on the concrete floor. That was so cool.

Besides the cool chemicals, who could forget the bunsen burner?

Of course, my workbook didn’t just have colourful chemical stains; many of the pages were burnt at the edges. My workbook had character.

I’m sure you also remember that we had to be careful not to overheat a test tube, or they would just break. For some reason, my test tubes tended to break a lot. Until we had to pay for broken test tubes.

And if the test tube had liquid in it, remember that if you overheated the test tube, the liquid inside would sometimes spurt out?

Remember the time when the hot liquid from my test tube accidentally spurted out and landed on you?

If you’re beginning to suspect that it wasn’t really an accident, then I must confess that your suspicions are not unfounded. I aimed it at you.

I mean, you were after all sitting in the seat in front of mine, so please don’t take it too personally.

And ah, the test tube holder.

Besides overheating the test tubes, I’m sure you tried overheating the test tube holder as well. Till it became red hot. Well maybe you didn’t, but I certainly did.

What does a 16 year old boy do with a red hot test tube holder?

Yes of course. He presses it against his workbook to see how many pages it would sear through. (I think it was around 5.) And searing the wooden work bench top as well.

I’m sure you understand that one eventually gets tired of searing inanimate objects, so, you know, one starts thinking of alternatives…

Like that day when I was holding my red-hot test tube holder in the flame when a thought crossed my mind as you were standing at your seat right in front of me as you usually did, and with your torso bent forward. In other words, your butt was facing me.

I mean, it was inevitable that that thought cross my mind, right?

Of course, being a good guy at heart, I didn’t really think it was a good idea. I mean, it was a good idea, good as in funny, but not good as in I didn’t really want to do it. I mean, I didn’t want to be the one to do it.

That was when I motioned to Nick, your lab partner. I showed him the red-hot test tube holder, and pointed to your ass.

He gave me a big grin, and took the test tube holder from me.

That was when it dawned on me that he was actually going to do it. Hey, I even cringed!

I still remember your loud scream as you jumped up and clutched your ass. Nick and my lab partner Pete were laughing away. Okay, I was probably laughing too, despite the guilt. It was funny.

What I didn’t expect was that you didn’t pummel Nick into pulp. You just gave him a very angry stare. I must say that I admired your self control.

The other thing I didn’t quite expect was to see you wear that same pair of trousers a the some days later. Yeah, we knew it was the same pair because the brown almond-shaped burn mark could be clearly seen.

And it remained indelibly there till we graduated, seared forever on my mind.

Your ex-classmate,

tinkertailor.

Time really flies, but it’s been over a month since I blogged about this type of post, so I guess it’s about time…

So there I was, walking along Chinatown area after dinner, and still feeling a little hungry. A guy walking towards me from the opposite direction suddenly stopped and spoke to me as I was about to pass him.

“Are you from around here?” He looked Chinese, but he spoke with an American accent. He was wearing a green cap and green t-shirt and bermudas. I didn’t look at his legs.

“Yeah,” I replied. He’s probably gonna ask for directions.

“Do you know if there’s any gay bar nearby?”

Do I look like someone who would know? I felt like retorting. Except that I was afraid that he would answer in the affirmative.

“I don’t know.” I wanted to add, don’t ask me - you’re asking the wrong person. I’ve never gone to a gay bar, nor will I ever go to one. Amen.

He gave me the most incredulous look, and muttered something under his breath.

As for me, I quickly continued on my way, hoping that he wouldn’t follow behind.

Dear Wayne,

I have a confession to make.

When I was blogging about pranks in my last post, I remembered you.

I don’t know why, but Pete and I had something against you for some reason, even though you were really a nice guy.

Yeah, you were the strongest guy in our sec 4 class, since you were the class bodybuilder, the schwarznegger fan, but you never threw your weight around (pardon the pun).

Maybe it was because you were the class monitor and represented authority, while Pete and I had this anti-authoritarian streak.

Also because you were a nice guy. Too nice actually, which we interpreted as a weakness. You know how cowards target those who don’t fight back? Yeah…

In short, you were the prime target for our pranks.

Remember the time when the teachers and everyone used to call me “The Instigator”? Because most of the weird happenings in class were attributable to me?

Well, The Instigator also instigated pranks against you. Most of them executed by Pete, because The Instigator was the Thinker, the Mind, the One With Ideas, but seldom the one to carry out the ideas, because he was a coward. He didn’t want to get into too much trouble.

Anyway, remember that you used to bring one of those 600ml mineral water bottles to school everyday?

It’s a small detail, but one that Pete and I would forever remember, because during one recess, we stayed behind in class, up to no good again, when I remembered that you had that bottle in your bag.

And a crazy idea came to me.

I shared it with Pete, and it got him really excited. In fact, it got me a little worried because he got so excited that he decided that he HAD to do it, even though I didn’t think he would take it too seriously.

We proceeded to the toilet, your bottle in Pete’s hand. He went into the toilet cubicle as I waited.

He was sniggering when he came out. He had emptied it, and now it was half filled with a light, golden liquid.

“What are we gonna do with this?” he asked, too excited to think.

“Pour it out, leave behind about one section of it.”

I’m sure you know that mineral water bottles usually have these sections or segments? About one-tenth each? He left the bottom segment filled with the golden liquid.

“Then fill the rest with water,” I instructed.

When it was done, the water looked clear. When Pete wanted to pass me the bottle to examine it, I declined. Even though he had washed it, I didn’t want to get my hands tainted.

Some hours later in class, I observed you taking the bottle out of your bag. And drinking from it.

You didn’t see me holding back my laughter, because you might remember that my seat was at the back corner of the classroom.

When we examined your bag again at the end of the day (I think it was during PE), we were laughing away.

Your bottle was completely empty.

Pete and I promised that we’d confess to you during our 10th year class reunion.

Well, it’s been more than 10 years now, and our class hasn’t had a single reunion. Okay maybe there were reunions, but I haven’t been invited.

Wayne, I ask for your forgiveness. Even though I still find it funny.

Your ex-classmate,

tinkertailor.

The thing about me is that I haven’t outgrown my proclivity for pranks which is really just a facet of my mean streak. Copulate that with my penchant for experimentation (thus the “tinker” in “tinkertailor) you get a progeny that results in the incident of me crossing the road…

But first some background.

Near my workplace is this road where the traffic is often moderately heavy, and has no pedestrian crossing anywhere nearby. The problem is, anyone from my office building who is tired of the cafeteria food must first cross this treacherous road before they can reach the greener grass on the other side.

It is thus not uncommon to see a poor office worker standing by the road waiting forever for that felicitous moment where the road clears completely, allowing them passage in their journey towards fulfillment.

Being one of good judgment when it comes to matters of how velocity, acceleration and time affects bodies, I seldom have trouble crossing the road, meaning that I don’t spend as much time waiting beside the road.

I soon noticed that others waiting to cross the road are often happy to cross the road along with me. In other words, it seemed to me that people are happy to rely on someone else’s judgement to cross a road, even though that someone else is a perfect stranger.

Well that was just a theory of mine, so I had to put this theory to the test.

One fine afternoon, I was waiting beside the road, along with 2 others.

I decided to step off the kerb. Even though the only way I could have made it across alive was to literally run across.

Of course, the whole point of waiting beside the road is to wait for it to be clear enough so that you can comfortably walk across. You don’t want to run across, unless you’re in a huge hurry, or unless you realise your misjudgement just as you’re in the middle of the road.

But I stepped off the kerb, and even took a further step. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was - both the other 2 guys waiting with me stepped off the kerb as well.

I then stepped backwards, back to the safety of kerb. The 2 guys suddenly looked really confused, and hesitated. One decided to turn back like me, the other made it across thanks to his sprinting ability.

I do acknowledge that the experiment was rather evil, so I tried hard to suppress my laughter when I witnessed the reactions of those 2.

But hey, I learnt something.

And don’t try this at home.

I’ve nothing in particular to write about, so I’m gonna be rambling on about random stuff.

I’m rambling about random stuff because I’ve noticed that many blogs have “rambling” or “random” in their titles or taglines. Perhaps blogging for a lot of people is about rambling and random stuff, much like running is about muscle aches and massages, or eating is about variety and diarrhea. See the connection?

No?

That’s because I’m just rambling about random stuff.

Dear Corinne,

It was nice meeting you at Borders. I do admit that you’re not too bad-looking, but I initiated the conversation because I was curious about you reading a book on Hinduism, since I don’t know too many Singaporean Chinese girls who are interested in it.

Yes, I gave you my card. But that’s because you asked me about my work. Whenever someone asks me about my work, I give them my card.

Thanks for sending me an SMS right after I left. Maybe it was rude of me not to ask for your number when we were talking, but I must say it was smart of you to send me the SMS. Now I have your number.

Besides your swiftness in contacting me, I must commend you for your swiftness in suggesting that we have coffee. Okay you didn’t suggest it - you hinted at it. And acted coy about it.

Corrine, if you want me, you have to ask for me. Then again, I don’t guarantee that you’ll get me. But still, it was nice meeting you. Maybe we might meet again at Borders. Or if you’re lucky, we could have coffee.

Yours,

tinkertailor.

P.S. I hope you don’t read my blog.

I was sitting by the Singapore river reading my book when I noticed a pair of Mormon missionaries - Caucasian men in their early 20s, in their usual white short-sleeved shirt, tie, and black trousers, with a black name tag on the shirt pocket.

One of them sat down on a nearby stone bench, while the other wandered off somewhere else. My book was more interesting.

Until I noticed a woman sitting down on the bench, right beside the Mormon. Knowing how conservative Mormons are, I waiting for his reaction.

He instinctively leaned away from the woman, with a slight grimace on his face. I couldn’t help but smile. That’s how I’d react if a gay sat beside me like that, I thought.

He caught me smiling. I knew what was coming next.

After the woman left (it turned out that she was just posing beside him for a photograph), he walked over to sit near me (but far enough).

“So how’s it like being a Mormon?” I asked him, before he could say anything.

“That’s the only life I know.” So he was born into a Mormon family. This means he probably never tasted coffee or coke before (caffeine is forbidden in Mormonism).

I’ve seen quite a number of Mormon missionaries in my lifetime, and I’ve read quite a fair bit about them ever since I was a kid (don’t ask), but this was the first time I was actually chatting with a real life Mormon missionary!

I found out that he was from Washington, not Utah. He wasn’t married, but he hopes to eventually.

“And have lots of kids?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. Mormons have huge families.

His primary mission field was Malaysia - he was there for over a year, and he knows Malay, but he didn’t try to convert Muslims. He’ll be leaving Singapore to end his service in 2 months, and he hopes to become a radiologist.

And of course, he eventually turned the conversation to Mormonism. I humoured him for a while, and eventually told him that I was familiar with Mormon beliefs. I even mentioned a bit of Mormon history to him, although I refrained from the controversial parts, like how Joseph Smith (the founder) had many wives (over 20).

Then I remembered.

I remembered this question I always wanted to ask a Mormon, but never had the opportunity to.

But it’s not nice!

Heck.

“I read somewhere that you have to wear some special undergarments. Is that true?” Not bad - “special undergarment” sounds so much more refined than “magic underwear”.

Turns out it was completely true. He even told me that there were special symbols on them.

Here’s a Youtube of some Aussie dude who went to Utah to investigate the Mormon magic underwear.

It’s strange - I read about this when I was pretty young, but never thought to search for it on the internet until now.

Anyway, it started raining. He gave me his card, and we parted company.

So now I know what they wear down there.