For the most part of June, I've been dreaming of July. "I can't wait for July man," I'd say in a number of occasion. Why July? Well, June has been, well...very packed. Countless deadlines, presentations, meetings and endless amount of follow-ups. To the point when we (only yesterday) packed our bags and left the office at 5.30pm. It didn't feel right.
Because in advertising, leaving the office at about 5, "It feels like we're leaving at 11am, are we slacking off?" I tell the boss. "I guess when there is a chance to go home early, we should exploit it."
He couldn't agreed more, "Finally I can watch some Simpsons," he told me.
Few more days to go. Wooo.
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I heard from Ryan that - of all people in the world - Tuck finally has a Friendster account. To us, it's nothing more than just another site for us to keep in touch, promote some shit and well, make ourselves look good in the cyber-reality world. But to him, "He thinks Friendster is gay," Ryan quoted him. Nothing more than over-glorifying superficiality. I was curious to why he had finally succumb to it. He say he doesn't have one. And that someone created it for him.
Now, that's even more strange. Someone really wants you on Friendster badly, huh?
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My paycheque is 5 days overdued. It's end of the month. And I have just had my car repaired yesterday. Cost me quite a bit despite driving a so-called cheap car. "When I bought this car, I assume shit like this won't happen," I complain to Annie, "And even if it does, it should be cheap."
Cheap, konon. Oh-so broke! However, as much as I like to think that I got conned by the classic Workshop 101 trick, the car the felt good after all that fiasco. The brakes are great. The steering is finally aligned, proper. Maybe it was really screwed to begin with.
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How big is the shuffling scene in Penang anyways? I'm dying to know. Not that I fancy it, or like watching it. It's just shocking to see the amount of people sucked into the clean-the-dance-floor moves. Not to mention the 90s-type baggy pants with weird fluorescent tapes glued onto them. Let's just put it this way. I hate it. Hate it.
And they have infiltrated the general social-circle and places. Once restricted to clubs only, now they bring their brand of annoying floor-brushing, cheesy feng-tau music played on their mp3 phones and egoistic attitude to places like...Ryan's pool side. Damn bloody annoying man I tell you.
We were chilling out there along with Denys and Jazz, having the usual nightly gather when this bunch of SPM hopefuls - with their helmets on the table - showed up with the glaring Ah Beng hokkien and started shuffling.
"It's Roby in the making," Ryan said.
"Do you think they would idolize Roby? Thinking he's the ideal role-model? Their hero?" I ask.
"Haha, I don't know dude, but this is what Roby would do."
"I think I should print out a picture of Roby and hand it out to them," I suggest, "Nah! Your hero, he lives..." points to the general direction to where Roby lives, "...there! Now go bug him."
Denys was less accommodating, I can understand why, "Hoi, late dee lah, go home sleep, later your mommy scold you," he said to them.
But they were oblivious. They were in the zone. Maybe the ground isn't clean enough. They kept on going late into the night, until the Guards lost it and threw water at them. Now that is just fitting. And funny too.
They sat there and soak up their moment of shame. Before finally departing.
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