The Dumb Things I Do

My dad was hardly the adventurous type. We would go to Taman Jaya to catch fish. He would catch a nap on the bench with an open can of beer on one hand. Somehow, the great outdoors weren’t his kinda thing. Neither were pets from the great outdoors. Dogs were ok. Birds, not too bad. Fish, well they don’t make noise. But snakes, he wasn’t too cool with  the idea.

One day (out of the many days we had done this), we found a baby snake. The baby snake, was small and black, wiggled violently, and was allegedly dangerous. Babies are usually cute. Apparently, baby snakes are deadly. They can’t gauge their proportions of venom in a sting. So if you got bitten by a baby snake, you can say “Goodbye, baby!”. But I find this hard to swallow. Firstly, the baby snake wouldn’t have even developed its venom duct so soon. And, following the laws of nature, it could habitate within mummy’s care before the need to protect itself with venom from predators. Then again, I’d need to read up on this.

Anyways.

So we place baby snake into a fish tank. Nope, no water in it. Covered the base with soil, some plants for decoration and kept it in the patio. My dad was at work. When he got home, I don’t think we told him. But soon, he found out.

“Either the snake goes, or I go”, dad warned us. We were stuck at the crossroads. After much delibration, we let the baby snake go. Right outside our house.

In our years at Jalan Gasing, we’ve had loads of snakes come in and out of our house. Dad never failed to get frightened at each encounter. We continued loving pets.

Lesson: Snakes are not always cute, small and cuddly. Those, you can get at Toys-R-Us. Animals like these have defense mechanisms to keep them surviving. Faced with predators on a daily-basis, venom and other forms of dangerous protection systems are a natural way for these animals to get around. When faced with a threat, it eiither fights or flights. Attack or retreat. If you do encounter a snake at close range, stay still, don’t make sudden movements. Let it slowly retreat. Don’t kill snakes. And if you see a baby snake, love it like it’s your own!

Great. I start a blog. Write a few entries. Abandon it for about 8 over months. And come back to continue where I left off. Pretty dumb, huh? Well, I had a writer’s block over the last few months. And nothing came forth. It’s like trying to have diarrhoea so badly, and after 8 months of constant groaning something squirts out.

Okay. Gross.

We were at a bicycle shop some weeks ago. My friends and I are planning on starting a new recreational hobby – visiting bicycle shops. Okay, kidding. We’re planning to cycle. With the increase of fuel prices and obesity in Malaysia, cycling seems like a win-win. On the other hand, I think it would look cool to hang our bicylces up on a mounted stand in the office. Bottomline - we were on a dogged search for good deals in town (PJ. KL is too far).

Some shops not only sell you bicycles, they sell attitude. In the first bicycle shop, we feasted our eyes on the various models. Our eyes bounced from one bike to another. GIANT brands (not the Giant super/hypermarket branding) are one of the higher ranges. My feasting ended when my eyes landed on the price tag. Over RM5K for something that doesn’t drink petrol. Hmm.. So I just looked at other models.

I think the shop owner was secretly annoyed. He asked my friend,

“What are you looking for?”

“We’re admiring your bikes” retorted my friend.

“This is a bicycle shop. Not a musuem” replied the cocky shop owner.

That was our cue to leave the shop. Obviously no purchase was made there. But I walked out realising that cycling does exude some attitude. The following two bicycle shops were a total opposite. The salesmen at both shops were friendly, spend a lot of time explaining the different bicycle makes, what could work for us at entry level, and were both named Leong.

Both Leongs gave us a positive attitude towards cycling. I haven’t bought my bike yet, but when I’ve the finances to, I’ll look for one of the Leongs. Somehow, I would be inclined to stay away from the curator of the first bicylce shop.

Scouts are supposed to be smart and resourceful. Every tool in the hand of a scout will be used with purpose and with tact. Scout law #3 dictates: A Scout is to make himself useful and helpful at all times.

In 1992, I went for my first scouts camp outside school. Most of our scouts camps were held in school because it was safer, we had water supply and our parents could come and visit us. Well, in this camp, we were tasked to hike through the rough terrain of Templar’s Park (a famous park in Rawang for a family-weekend getaway).

Excited, the concoction of adrenalin and testosterone brewing in every scout on the bus led us to do stupid male stunts. I was the first casualty at camp. And I did so in record time (before the camp even started!). I was showing my scout-buddies how the scout should salute. I mean, how the scout should salute with a penknife in his hand. (FYI, scouts don’t salute with penknives in their hands).

Forgetting scout law #3, I positioned the penknife in my right hand. Instead of fully opening the blade, I left it at a 45degree angle. My fist clenched the rest of the penknife while the blade waited above my fingers. Failing to realise that movement and impact can cause the blade to slap back into the groove, I proceeded to educate my pre-Tenderfoot-badged buddies about the penknife salutation.

As soon as my fingers reached my forehead, the blade slapped back into its groove and got my little finger. I bled. My pre-tenderfoot friends looked shocked. I felt shy. Then I went to the front of the bus to receive first aid from the troop leader. “Wow so fast got injury ah? You’re the first one to injure yourself.” I wasn’t sure if I should have felt proud or stupid. But when camp progressed, I didn’t feel that stupid anymore.

We pitched camp upon arriving. That evening, each patrol (patrols are working groups) had to cook their own dinner. Still running high on testosterone and adrenalin, our quartermaster (aka. chef) boasted to us and we boasted to the next patrol (camped next to us) that we were having FRIED RICE FOR DINNER. That night, we ended up eating porridge.

Lesson: I would rather be silent and thought of as an idiot than to speak and confirm it.

You will see a family resemblance between my brothers and I. Sometimes, I wonder if its a good thing or not. Being the oldest, I guess it doesn’t bother me so much. We’ve been able to confuse church members quite consistently. Those moments are fun. There’s a lady at church who never gets it right each time we meet. And there are others who try.

One day, I went to the security guardhouse in my condo to get our residents identity card done for my whole family. I passed him all four of our passport-sized photographs (my mom, two brothers and me). The guard laid the photos on the table and looked at me intently as I if I was playing a practical joke on him. “Kenapa semua gambar sama?” (Why did you give me four of the same pictures?) . The head guard, who knew there were four of us, interjected, “Bukan samalah. Satu keluarga” (They’re different photos. It’s a family).

Another time, a man I knew who lived on the same block, whom I had always smiled at in the elevator asked me, “You have brothers right?”. The poor man got confused with the different reactions he had received doing our smile-and-hi routine.

One mother teased her two giggling kids who assumed I was the clown brother (my brother works as a clown). “You know who is this? You know who is this?… This is the clown!” I smiled, acknowledging her suggestion because I didn’t want to ruin her children’s happy, euphoric moment.

In church one morning, my youngest brother was on stage leading the singing for worship. I walked into the hall from the back late (usually the case). An usher saw me and in amazement, instantaneously made some speechless grunts as he tried to make sense of my brother’s omnipresence in both ends of the building.

So having look-a-likes can be quite amusing. But nothing beats the amusing verbal exchange I had with my brother in the car one day. We were once again having a little annoying tiff over something. And to mark his victory, he boldly shoved his closing statement at me: “MY FACE IS LIKE YOUR BACKSIDE!”. I’m quite sure he meant the opposite. It’s conversations like these that create a whole new dimension to our family resemblance.

Lesson: Siblings are fun to have. And when you and your siblings look alike, boy you can have fun. Always smile at people because you will never know if your look-alike has smiled at him before. And when you want to end your arguments with a bang, rehearse your closing statement 15 times aloud to avoid saying the wrong thing.

In 2004, I took a month-long trip to Australia (yeah the same trip I made a boo boo with the ‘free wine’). Melbourne is a lovely place. It’s like Kuala Lumpur. A few Caucasian people and a lot of Asians. Just way colder.

Besides spending time with relatives, I had planned to catch up with all my friends who were studying in the local universities. I knew a handful studying there. Most of them were from my church.

One night, I was walking by Lygon Street- an Italian precinct. It was after eight and my two friends and I were aiming for dessert at a Gelati shop (Gelati – Italian concept for ice cream). I bumped into a crowd of Chinese girls walking in the opposite direction. Looked up. And I hear, “KEVIN THOMAS!”

Being a tourist and recognized on the streets of a foreign land at night by girls felt quite uplifting. The girls happened to be friends I had met some years ago in Malaysia. It was a pleasant surprise. (Then again, highly unsurprising due to the increasing population of Malaysians there). So we chatted a little and exchanged more contact numbers of friends in Melbourne. My plan to meet friends swelled. And I finally got Mark Hoo’s contact number.

I had been wanting to catch up with Mark. He was one of the pioneers in Melbourne Uni from our church. And I was hoping to meet up. The week ahead was a busy one for me as I had two other destinations in Australia to fly to. So Mark and I exchanged text messages throughout.

One day, back in Melbourne, I grew hungry after a series of tiring walks in town. So I messaged all my Australian-student-friends to join me for lunch (students were supposed to be free). Unfortunately, everyone declined. But not Mark. Mark replied me around dinner time to apologise because he fell asleep around lunch time. So I called Mark.

“Hey Mark, no prob. Would you be free for lunch tomorrow?”

“Err.. Hey Kevin, to be perfectly honest with you… err where did I meet you?” Mark’s words poured out politely.

I half-smiled in suspense. “Err… Aren’t you Mark Hoo?”

“I am Mark. But not Mark Hoo.”

Great job Kevin. We text-messaged like old friends and totally got the wrong person. The girls had given me the wrong Mark. To laugh or cry? Oh well, at least I know this Mark was doing well there.

Lesson: When you have friends whose surname sounds like a question, better clarify big time. Good thing I didn’t go on to share my secret scandalous stories with him. I’m sure he’d Mark me. The Gelati on Lygon street’s really good. Oh, and I bumped into another friend there. The lady serving me was an old friend too. An African proverb: Hold a true friend with both hands. (Just make sure you store their cellphone numbers in yours).

My father wasn’t a man of few words. His jovial character made it easy for people to warm up to him. Throw in a couple of whisky shots and he’d be the live-wire of any party.

However, when it came to getting the right words for the right occasion, even whisky couldn’t help.

My mom and dad, along with my brother and I, went shopping for curtains one day about 20 years ago. My mom, has a keen eagerness for the aesthetics. My dad on the other hand loved beer and TV and couldn’t care about what draped over the window. But somehow, he knew a thing or two about curtains. And he was ready to impress mom (perhaps to speed up the shopping process) with his extensive curtain-knowledge and terminology.

“Honey. Why don’t we get those curtains with the TESTICLES.” He loudly suggested to the whole shop.

TESTICLES don’t grow on curtains. Those are called TASSELS.

I’m quite sure all form of aesthetics disappeared from my mom’s embarrassed form that afternoon.

LESSON: If you’re a guy, don’t shop for curtains. If you have to, just shut up pick something nice. Oh, and get sex out of your mind for once. If you’re a woman, sew your own curtains. Then you have the liberty to hang anything your husband suggests. I’m quite glad dad didn’t teach me English. Actually I’m happier he didn’t teach me Tamil

Kenneth and I were in the midst of a trivial argument. We went back and forth putting each other down. Then the argument came to a halt when he asserted, “At least I have two eyebrows!!!”.

Lesson: Make sure your genetic code isn’t messed up. Stay away from Kenneth.

It’s really nice to watch how people respond to wit. I like how people with dry humor can pull off something so funny and remain stoic in their expression as if nothing funny happpened.

At McDonald’s in Amcorp Mall one evening, my ex-colleagues and I decided to chill. It was my turn to order. A young Malay lady at the counter greeted.

“Hi. Makan sini?” (Are you eating here?)

“Takdelah, Saya makan kat sana.” (No, I’m eating over there) Pointing to my table.

She burst out laughing. My friends found it funny too. I just can’t keep a stoic expression.

 Lesson: These kinds of wit can only be done at fast food joints. Never try this at the chicken rice stall where the person taking your order with one hand is holding a chopper on the other.

In 1997, I first laid hands on the Mac keyboard at college. It was my first time ever getting intimate with a machine that could boost my design career. Adobe Pagemaker, Illustrator and Photoshop were the first few computer programmes taught. Getting acquainted with shortcut keys were an added advantage as the world of advertising is a fast-paced one. Churning artwork at light-speed gives you a bigger capacity to handle more jobs, thus more income.

So, I asked Ms Winnie for help.

Ms Winnie was a Chinese-speaking lecturer, short and squeaked. Candid, she took her work seriously. If you didn’t understand her, she would engage the ’stare’.

“Ms Winnie, how to undo?”

“Command Jack”

“Excuse me?” My face screwed up in confusion.

“C-O-M-M-M-M-A-A-N-N-D J-A-C-K” She enunciates clearly.

So I held the Command key down (Ctrl for PC users) and typed ‘J-A-C-K.’

“Aiya! COMMAND JACK!“ Ms Winnie hastily slaps the keyboard. She holds the Command key down and the presses the “Z” key.

Command + “Z”* = undo.

I thank Jack for making my computer work easier now.

Lesson: When stuck within a cross-cultural student-teacher relationship, it’s always a good idea to clarify verbally and in writing the lesson to avoid ambiguity and guess-work. Crap. I wonder how many shortcut keys I have missed out.

*Z is pronounced "Z-aet" in Malaysia