So you know that I’ve been having problems with my main machine. (How do people work with only one PC? The mind boggles.) And I’ve been searching for a sexy case to house my new hardware. Can I tell you something? There are no sexy cases in Malaysia or Singapore. In fact, when you mention it — “I’m after a case that’s both functional and sexy” — all you get is a pained smile or embarrassed giggle, from Sim Lim Square to Penang.
I eventually stumbled across Moderno PC but, being the end of the year, they’re out of almost everything and the usual Malaysian attitude kicks in for the rest.
“No, we don’t have that case in silver. But we have the black. Why not take the black, lah?”
“But you don’t have the function panel I want in black, do you?”
“Ah, no lah. All sold out.”
“Do you know when they’ll be coming back into stock?”
“Tcha. Difficult to say, lah. End of year and all suppliers are clearing their stocks. Maybe we get it next year. We don’t know yet.”
So I shopped bricks-and-mortar local and now have a case I’m really not crazy about, housing some admittedly kick-ass equipment. But it’s not what I wanted and, more importantly, it’s not what I was prepared to pay for.
While I was muttering darkly about online computer stores (and, no matter what else I said, Moderno was very very quick with refunding my money, so thanks for that, guys … I will do business again, but perhaps at the beginning of the supplier year next time, hmmm?), the bus guys rumbled by. The kids are back at school next week, so the school bus crew for the area came to introduce themselves.
As with most things in Malaysia, this isn’t a succinct, ten-second acknowledgement. The area for this procedure is either in your carport or by the road. I get introduced to the main players (in this case, the driver and the company owner). We have to discuss the direction they’ve come from, the initial difficulties they had in finding the house, and a quick opinion on the surroundings. I offer tips on the best way to get to the house, and they nod and make noises of agreement, interspersed with the occasional question so we both know they’re paying attention. Smiling, we then segue into when the kids will be picked up, and some comments on the process when dropping them off at school. There’s a rundown on the procedure when returning (our kids will be the first dropped off), and their rough route home. And then the exchange of name cards (known as business cards everywhere else, but they contain your name and are used for personal situations as well so, hey, name cards, right?).
In the last few minutes of the conversation, I happened to comment on the delicious smell of durian wafting from the mini-bus (painted a bright orange with “BAS SEKOLAH” in black emblazoned on the sides). Well, that was enough for Mr. Loh. “Come, come,” he told me, beckoning me to the bus door. He must use the bus as his personal transport as well, because it was full of fresh fruit, a neat pyramid of pineapples sitting on one of the front seats. Reaching into the back, he pulled out a green, thorny durian. “Here,” he says. “Very fresh. I cut it myself from the tree this morning.” It weighed close to two kilograms.
No matter how much I tried to protest that I’m the only one in the family who eats durian, so one fruit would be way too much for me, he insisted on foisting it onto me. “You must have. Very nice taste. I only pick quality fruit.”
And, content that their job here was done, they waved merrily at me and drove away.
Malaysia is like that. You feel like throttling a friendly, uncaring throat over their apparent apathy, and then you get given something wonderful out of the goodness of someone’s heart, on no more than a throwaway comment. Later on that afternoon, while the kids and I were waiting for the final toting of the bill at the computer store, the owner’s mother came by with cold drinks for all three of us because she was worried my two warring offspring were getting thirsty.
The fact of the matter is, I’m wound up way too tight for a place like Malaysia. I’ve always been a rather tense person, ready to cut someone dead on a single misstep. If you met me, I doubt you’d like me very much. So maybe a laid-back, generous, tomorrow-tomorrow environment is exactly what I need. A social choke-chain if you will. I wonder if it’ll work.
In the meantime, a Happy New Year to you all, and thanks for reading.
