While I understand that, from the perspective of the people delivering the service, it sucks to have to suck up to suckers that seem to suck up their time with seemingly no benefit, please bear in mind that, regardless of the method or amount, these folks are getting paid to deliver the service; by us -- the exact people who they are being rude to.
Wait a second. Does that seem strange to anyone else?
If I were to pay you 100 bucks for you to just pick up and hand me a stone on the side of the road while smiling at me, would you even consider being rude to me? I would bet my left testicle that 99 people out of 100 would just take the money, smile and not think twice. Yet, when it's a job, it's okay to be rude? How does that logic work?
Yeah, yeah. I'm sure there's lots to be argued, debated, and contemplated about on that subject, but that's not what this blog entry is about. It's about my own actual experiences since I've been back to Malaysia (that's about two years ago) that have been so horrid that I still have nightmares about them. Well, not really, but it gets the point across.
We've all experienced it. Weird shit in our food that don't belong there. I was having curry laksa at a hawker stall in Ipoh, when I discovered what appeared to be a strand of human hair floating on my taugeh. Being the outspoken person that I am, I immediately motioned for the attendee of the stall, a middle-aged Chinese woman about the height of my motorcycle, to come over. She strode over to my table slowly with an expression that made it apparent she would rather be somewhere else.
Her: "Ya?"
Me: "Is that a hair in my laksa??"
With almost no change in expression, she peers into my bowl, squinting her eyes several times, and then looks at me blankly.
Her: "Ya, it is."
And then she strode off.
It was my first experience encountering this sort of situation since I had been back, and I simply didn't know how to handle it. My mind went blank. My brain shut down.
Little did I know at the time that a couple months later, I would have to ask...
This time, I was a bit more prepared. Before calling the waitress over, I simulated in my mind how I would call for the waitress to come back should she choose to walk away from the situation. Mentally prepped, I called for the waitress to come over. She rolled her eyes slightly and walked toward me like she was heading toward some piece of garbage on the ground she had to pick up.
Her: "........."
Me: "There's a piece of hair in my soup!"
Just as the lady from my previous experience, she showed no signs of shock and did her obligatory peer and squint.
Her: "Boss, that one is my hair."
Me: "........."
At this point I'm trying to figure out what that has to do with anything. Before I could contemplate further, she continued.
"Don't worry, boss. I just wash this morning."
And then she strode off.
I was NOT ready for that. Man...
I've had my share of horrible experiences with government employees, especially in Putrajaya, and I'm sure everyone has as well. Allow me to share one that really stood out for me.
After standing in line for over an hour waiting to renew my passport, my number was finally called by the annoying number calling system. "Nombor tiga enam satu empat, kaunter dua." I walk up to the counter and greet the guy behind the counter with a smile and a "Hello". He wasn't impressed. With his completely emotionless face, he says something to me in BM. Unfortunately, due to not having lived in Malaysia for a long time (like...ever), I did not have the opportunity to learn BM, which I also explained to the guy in English. He stares at me with even less expression, and continues speaking in BM. So I figured he didn't hear me, and so I explain to him again that I don't understand BM due to my blah blah blah situation.
...pause...
The guy continues to speak to me in BM, only this time, he says something reeeaaally long.
What. The. Fuck.
I try to keep my temper and my smile, and continue to explain to him my situation and that I just want to renew my passport. I even throw in a bit of BM vocabulary I picked up. "Tolonglah." "Sila membantu saya." "......dalam Inggeris!"
Finally, it seemed my efforts paid off. Slowly, the guy began to speak.
"I could really use a smoke..."
Huh?!
First off, his English was fucking perfect. Second, he could use a...whaaa?!
He apparently saw I was confused, so this time, he deliberately stared at my shirt pocket, in which was a box of Mild Seven I had brought from Japan, and repeated himself.
"I could really use a smoke..."
Ohhh! How stupid could I be! Of course! I pulled out my box of Mild Seven and politely inquired.
"Would you like one?"
A hint of emotion came across his emotionless face and he gestured to the door behind him.
"Come," he said. "I'll show you to the smoking area."
I follow him through a door behind him that led to an inner courtyard with an ashtray. We both lit up one of my cigarettes, and puffed away while making small talk about random shit like how it's always hot in Putrajaya and how he studied in Australia for 3 years. After finishing the cigarette, he starts to mumble.
"Those are good smokes."
This time, I was sharp and alert! I immediately took out the remainder of my cigarettes and offered the entire box to him. He accepted with a smile, and we walked back in the building to situate ourselves in our previous positions.
Ah! Finally! Now I can get this shit over with! I thought to myself.
I couldn't believe the next words that came out of his mouth.
"I sure could use a good steak..."
Later that day, I walked away with a brand new passport that cost me 3 and a half hours, 250 bucks for the passport, and more than 300 bucks for three steak dinners (he brought a buddy along).
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