I was Fat Charlie

I am just an extra body at the office today, so let’s talk (i.e. read my time-wasting writings). Fair warning: This is an overly-extensive and rambling narration of my day yesterday.

I wake up late as usual.

It takes me two hours to get to the office. I become like all those other drivers who look as if life has been sucked out of them via traffic jam Dementors. On the way I encounter some kid (yes, suddenly all P drivers are kids even though they are only about a couple years younger than me) who won’t let me get into a lane, thus making me angry to a point I am driven to flash a finger at him (don’t worry, I don’t normally do this, and he could only have seen it if there had been an amazing coincidence between him glancing into his rearview mirror and me sticking my finger out). I notice that my teeth and jaw have subconsciously lock into gritting position.

I get to the office, inquire where I’m suppose to go, and find out the client’s place is right smack in the middle of KL. I google map the place, get directions, and choose a route that’s supposed to get me there in 20 minutes. Sprint highway, Duta highway, Jalan Duta, Jalan Kuching, Jalan Sultan Ismail. Easy enough.

40 minutes later, I find that I’ve ended up at Batu Caves. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

I am a horrible, horrible navigator.

*Cerita selitan: After I was done mapping out my route, I started packing up my stuff to go, and that’s when I noticed the right corner of my laptop bagpack was wet. My water bottle had miraculously uncapped and spilt quarter of its contents. Awesome.

I finally get to the place, park, struggle with my things, sign in at reception, and make my way up. I do some menial work, go have lunch with two people who speak a different language, then I have to transfer my stuff to a different part of the office. I walk with my senior, in front of me is some guy talking to a salesperson. He starts walking away, while still talking to the salesperson, and bumps into me, treading heavily on my foot. I hold out a hand to steady him, and say sorry (even though it was his fault!). The fucker doesn’t apologize nor does he acknowledge mine.

I spend the rest of the day holed up in a room, trying to match interest rates to bank contracts. I screw up a few times, miss a couple of obvious points in front of my senior, and generally feel like an incapable twat.

Work finally comes to an end, I’m let off, and I start walking back the carpark. On the way there I pass a Starbucks and make a beeline for the counter to get a ridiculously priced but fantastic-tasting frappuccino. It is a waste of money, but it has been a trying day and I cannot deny that once I’ve drunk a dark mocha frappuccino, I tend to have a stupid grin on my face for at least an hour afterwards. I suppose it’s the whole combination of coffee and chocolate, it stimulates happy hormones.

I pay the ridiculous sum for my drink, go to pay for my parking ticket at the machine, and discover that I have spent the major chunk of my small change on the frappuccino bertuah and don’t have enough left to pay for the ticket. MANGKUK AY-

No matter! The frappuccino begins to work its magic and I cheerfully disregard this mishap and go to a handy ATM nearby to withdraw.

I cross the deserted carpark towards my car(casting a weary eye around, of course. The combination of a silent carpark, newspaper stories and an active imagination keeps me adequately vigilant, hopefully).

I drive off, and try to figure out how to get back. By that time, it’s getting dark, I see the bright lights of the city, I see what are presumably tourists walking around, I sing along to the radio, and generally all is well with the world (I told, you frappuccinos are magical). I end up using the Sungai Besi way to get home. I drive, I drive, I miss the exit heading to Puchong. I drive, I drive, and reach the turning to the lumba kuda roundabout, see congestion, impulsively decide to drive pass. I miss another turning, there is no u-turn, and somehow I end up in Bangi.

BANGI???

I am a horrible, stubborn navigator. BANGI?

I desperately turn back, follow all signs to Puchong, get led onto a different highway, waste petrol and toll money, and finally end up at that familiar stretch of road in front of IOI mall. I follow the familiar road, get to the correct residential area, wave to the security guard who lifts the divider up for me, and reach home.

Home to kickass Mom-cooked bayam masak sup and udang masak sambal. All is well.