Drivers Wanted

March 18, 2009

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The skies turned smoky beige… yesterday. From the balcony of the Executive Suite, where I work, I could see KLCC Tower on the right, enveloped in something totally surreal. The skies above was milky tea, whilst behind and below the 36th floor, horrifying blackness of someone’s tummy went wrong somewhere over lunch. I had to rush out of the building. Trying to get a cab home at such an hour would be almost a miracle – that is if you can catch a cab.

Big shots {those in power} give small people {people giving blood for pittance} bad names when it comes to credit. I just learnt we’ll only get our allowance for the month {read allowance, and not remuneration mind you!} on Saturday. Hell-o?? I don’t work Saturdays. It’s the only day that I can lounge in supermarkets and figure what the fridge needs beefed-up, so to speak for the week. Currently it’s only filled with mineral water from the Springs of Terengganu. I could do with some Badoit, but Malaysia does not import this fine French mineral water. You’d think Carrefour would be a wee bit patriotic, but heck non… it aint! I remember well, how I first tasted it on my tongue. It gave me goose-bumps. Like Love, you can become addicted to Badoit.

It is super good!

Anyway, back to yesterday. I rushed out of the building, as fast as my long legs could stretch in steps and stopped at the Cab Station. The wind was bellowing, and whispering your name. I thought of you again, for the umpteenth time. Sometimes, missing someone, can make you a bit delirious. Its like missing Badoit, money, and Paris. If you can imagine missing something, try to feel the sensations of not missing missing someone. It can make your heart cry.

“USJ 11″ I said to the cab driver, as I prompted him to stop.

“Campur tiga” he added {Add RM3 – that would equate to about 75 eurocents extra for the trajet}

… I was pressing on the imaginary accelarator of the co-driver’s seat hoping the driver would eventually press-on and drive away {He didn’t – he kept pressing the brakes!}. I never sit behind in a car. You never know who’s the next sharpshooter with a penchant for marking you down. Not that it’ll ever happen in Malaysia, but the recent Mangolian lady that was gruesomely murdered in Shah Alam here in the Klang Valley, makes one wonder about safety in this region.

“Could you please drive” I snapped. He was obviously taking his time. I thought something was wrong with the car. He kept on playing with the gears. That dumbshift gear could have been a dildo for all I care, but I wanted to go to Subang as fast-est possible.

Then the rain smashed in.

Like someone decided to pour a huge pail of water over the tinyness of us all trapped in our cars in the city of Kuala Lumpur. I could see the dance and was amazed at how each droplet forms a full stop, and turns slowly into a comma and then… into lines, undefined. An amazing work of art, even if temporary. Damn, the car was not moving. He was adjusting his seat, moving up and down, checking on his belt, and muttering something. In my mind, I wanted to throw him out of the seat, and take over the wheel.

I don’t drive. But at the rate this guy is doing his gyrating movements in the car, I might as well earn my license yesterday, I thought to myself. This is anger management at its best. Try to work with slow-motioned people in the office, and getting this cabbie is an added plus!

“Why aren’t you moving?” I asked obviously annoyed because we’ve been on this highway for the past twenty minutes, the other cars have moved forward into oblivion, and he is still adjusting his seat.

“I cannot see”

“What do you mean you cannot see?”

“Ah..yo…yo.. you know, this rain, very heavy… how to see?”

By then I was fuming. In my mind, I could see my right hand turning into a chain saw, and he diced up, for the next meal in some cat’s Science Diet programme or something. The meter was running and reading RM20.40, and we have yet to reach Subang Jaya where my parents live. By the time we reached my parents’ home, the meter read RM40.80 {that is about 9 Euros – its not much, but in Malaysia, it is a lot especially when you’re almost broke}

“I think you should re-consider your vocation” I said, when paying him without giving even a single tip. I normally tip good drivers if they get me to where I want to go before or on time. I just love it when cab drivers just zip-zap across town taking the shortest possible route, without a dent.

“Ah..yo..yo…you know, with this economy.. how to change?” Yeah, like his cells do not irrespective how excellent or poor the state of the economy of the country is. He stopped the car in the middle of the road, causing curses coming from other drivers {and me! – well, I was just thinking it !}

I was perfected by heaven, but am limited by the earth. Some people cannot change, despite the storm or if their lives are at stake. I wonder what his limitations were.

Drivers Wanted was first published in AainaA Insight Magazine, in 2006 herein re-published for your reading pleasure.