What can I do about depression, asked the lady who stores bags at the little shopping mall across from my hotel
I had been monkeying around. I even had a coconut as a prop.
I had to think hard about this one. Depression has followed me for years. Only recently have I learned to avoid the black dog. Anxiety, I'm still working on that, but have a few tricks up my sleeve.
She doesn't know that my anxiety was a result of an Islamic terrorist attack, but she really doesn't need to know that.
She was in her late twenties and genuinely wanted my advice.
The funnyman routine stopped.
Huh, she shut me up.
I was telling her how I bought some cakes, handed over the cash then demanded it back.
'Only fucking with you,' I told the cake seller.
'I'm just rehearsing for my role,' I said. Malaysia is a great place for rehearsing. It's a developed country, and despite what people say about the county, I think it's got so much potential.
She laughed.
I told her about my Pizza Hut story.
'Jealousy is always a problem,' she said.
But she was laughing at every word that came out of my mouth. I think it was upsetting the boyfriend who preferred her angelic laughs were directed at him.
'Bananas are good, full of potassium,' I adviced. I forgot to tell her the power of coconuts.
She had financial worries and at one time wanted to end it all.
Low self-esteem?
Well fuck those cunts who put you down. Fuck them every second of the day. Consider it a personal fatwa against the asswipes of this world.
I said now was a good time to pray to Allah.
'He will listen to you,' I added. 'But you may need to suffer and endure some more before he intervenes.'
I had to put it in Islamic terms. I'd be a sham if I didn't. I was speaking like an Iman and she could relate to it, that's all.
I said keep on hating. Swear your little pretty head off. Fuck the 'keep positive' crap. You don't get electricity without a negative right?
I could see she felt better. I continued my rounds.
So much has been said today.
I've advised her to get the license to sell Smith's chips in Malaysia. But if you can't fund me, then you are wasting my time.
She wanted me to invest. Fuck that.
The Chinese lady says she works for a financial company.
She had asked me all kinds of questions. I just made up silly answers.
When I asked them back, she backed off.
Poor soul. I was only acting.
But if anyone can get the import rights to stock up every supermarket with Smith's chips, they'll be fucking rich.
Lays, and other local brands, are crap.Smith's uses real Aussie potatoes.
Why do they have bushfires in Australia, asked Peggy, the fruit lady?
People who live in the fire zone deserve to be roasted, I said. Our trees need high temperatures to self-seed.
'But nice to live in the bush.'
Nothing nice about living in a potential oven, I told Peggy.
Her car is a beat up rust bucket, parked near her fruit stand.
'Someone smashed into it,' she said.
Always the way.
I usually buy sliced papaya from her. She's in her early sixties, stooped from hard work and prefers me to call her Madam.
She deserves that. But I just love teasing her and calling her Peggy.
Peggy Sue.
It's an Oldie, ain't it.
She prefers Madam.
'My sister gave me that name,' she says.
It's a name she loathes.
How about marking down the price on a slice of pineapple, I ask.
It's not six yet, she says.
Six pm is her knocking off time.
I pay the full price. It's still only 5 am. Mr. Lee comes up to my table to shake hands. He's lost too much cash from the gambling den down the road.
It's good that the locals aren't sick of me yet.
I tried to buy a few t-shirts at the shopping mall opposite my hotel. It was a good try. But XL isn't XL in my country. And they didn't stock any Double X L. I'm a muscled brute, not a Krispy Kreme fat boy, I tell myself on these kinda shopping expeditions.
I still think fondly of those Crocodile brand black shirts I bought at Ramayana in Pontianak, Indonesia. They fitted and even had a V neck.
These ones were too fucking small and I'm not going to buy them to find out that they don't fit me.
The male staff was cool with it. I even stretched the shit out of the shirts to see if they might fit like I did at another bigger shopping mall.
The two male staff couldn't agree more.
You aren't going to charge me for the shirts I've stretched?
No no, they said.
They were having a slow day and were amused by my retard antics.
I must have stretched the fuck out of two shirts. They were now Double XL.
After trying on a few shirts I went up to the supervisor, a Muslim woman in a hijab.
I've got a complaint.
I said it ever so seriously and deadpan.
Shock and horror written on her face. Malaysians in the workplace hate negative feedback and I'm here to exploit it.
'Your staff were too friendly.'
A sigh of relief. I pulled this shit off at Pizza Hut recently.
I love traveling. It really broadens your horizon.
I had been monkeying around. I even had a coconut as a prop.
I had to think hard about this one. Depression has followed me for years. Only recently have I learned to avoid the black dog. Anxiety, I'm still working on that, but have a few tricks up my sleeve.
She doesn't know that my anxiety was a result of an Islamic terrorist attack, but she really doesn't need to know that.
She was in her late twenties and genuinely wanted my advice.
The funnyman routine stopped.
Huh, she shut me up.
I was telling her how I bought some cakes, handed over the cash then demanded it back.
'Only fucking with you,' I told the cake seller.
'I'm just rehearsing for my role,' I said. Malaysia is a great place for rehearsing. It's a developed country, and despite what people say about the county, I think it's got so much potential.
She laughed.
I told her about my Pizza Hut story.
'Jealousy is always a problem,' she said.
But she was laughing at every word that came out of my mouth. I think it was upsetting the boyfriend who preferred her angelic laughs were directed at him.
'Bananas are good, full of potassium,' I adviced. I forgot to tell her the power of coconuts.
She had financial worries and at one time wanted to end it all.
Low self-esteem?
Well fuck those cunts who put you down. Fuck them every second of the day. Consider it a personal fatwa against the asswipes of this world.
I said now was a good time to pray to Allah.
'He will listen to you,' I added. 'But you may need to suffer and endure some more before he intervenes.'
I had to put it in Islamic terms. I'd be a sham if I didn't. I was speaking like an Iman and she could relate to it, that's all.
I said keep on hating. Swear your little pretty head off. Fuck the 'keep positive' crap. You don't get electricity without a negative right?
I could see she felt better. I continued my rounds.
So much has been said today.
I've advised her to get the license to sell Smith's chips in Malaysia. But if you can't fund me, then you are wasting my time.
She wanted me to invest. Fuck that.
The Chinese lady says she works for a financial company.
She had asked me all kinds of questions. I just made up silly answers.
When I asked them back, she backed off.
Poor soul. I was only acting.
But if anyone can get the import rights to stock up every supermarket with Smith's chips, they'll be fucking rich.
Lays, and other local brands, are crap.Smith's uses real Aussie potatoes.
Why do they have bushfires in Australia, asked Peggy, the fruit lady?
People who live in the fire zone deserve to be roasted, I said. Our trees need high temperatures to self-seed.
'But nice to live in the bush.'
Nothing nice about living in a potential oven, I told Peggy.
Her car is a beat up rust bucket, parked near her fruit stand.
'Someone smashed into it,' she said.
Always the way.
I usually buy sliced papaya from her. She's in her early sixties, stooped from hard work and prefers me to call her Madam.
She deserves that. But I just love teasing her and calling her Peggy.
Peggy Sue.
It's an Oldie, ain't it.
She prefers Madam.
'My sister gave me that name,' she says.
It's a name she loathes.
How about marking down the price on a slice of pineapple, I ask.
It's not six yet, she says.
Six pm is her knocking off time.
I pay the full price. It's still only 5 am. Mr. Lee comes up to my table to shake hands. He's lost too much cash from the gambling den down the road.
It's good that the locals aren't sick of me yet.
I tried to buy a few t-shirts at the shopping mall opposite my hotel. It was a good try. But XL isn't XL in my country. And they didn't stock any Double X L. I'm a muscled brute, not a Krispy Kreme fat boy, I tell myself on these kinda shopping expeditions.
I still think fondly of those Crocodile brand black shirts I bought at Ramayana in Pontianak, Indonesia. They fitted and even had a V neck.
These ones were too fucking small and I'm not going to buy them to find out that they don't fit me.
The male staff was cool with it. I even stretched the shit out of the shirts to see if they might fit like I did at another bigger shopping mall.
The two male staff couldn't agree more.
You aren't going to charge me for the shirts I've stretched?
No no, they said.
They were having a slow day and were amused by my retard antics.
I must have stretched the fuck out of two shirts. They were now Double XL.
After trying on a few shirts I went up to the supervisor, a Muslim woman in a hijab.
I've got a complaint.
I said it ever so seriously and deadpan.
Shock and horror written on her face. Malaysians in the workplace hate negative feedback and I'm here to exploit it.
'Your staff were too friendly.'
A sigh of relief. I pulled this shit off at Pizza Hut recently.
I love traveling. It really broadens your horizon.
