Today was painting class with Mr. Tan day. Mr. Tan, the 62 year old Chinese man who doesn’t speak English, but is one of the funniest men I’ve met in Singapore. This man makes you laugh without saying a word (of English). I arrived about 15 minutes early as I’m prone to do (when alone), dropped off my bag at the studio (and I use that term lightly), and headed off to grab a Coke before class. I think I woke Mr. Tan from his afternoon nap, as he was sitting on the couch, arms crossed, head slightly forward. I love a guy who savors a good nap. But Mr. Tan isn’t the story this time.
With 15 minutes to spare and my teacher asleep, I decided to explore the Golden Mile Tower or “Little Thailand” where the studio (lightly, again) is located. It’s an odd half-mall, half office-building type of building that I don’t think I’ve ever seen anywhere except Asia – it’s as if they put the nastiest strip center, along with the nasty strip center next to it, and the next one, all in the same older, smaller mall. Then someone closed up some of the skylights and broke a few of the too narrow escalators, and turned off about half the lights. The first amusement I came upon was outside a shop selling camouflage items and advertising that they’d sew on your army patches. Outside this Asian Academy Surplus was a lawn chair with the most shrunken little old lady I’ve ever seen, at least 95 years old, wrapped in a blanket and wearing a too big baseball cap that said “I Love Teachers” pulled down over her eyes. She was being force fed a gruel by a younger woman (remember, all in front of a shop in a mall). When later I asked Mr. Tan how long she had been there he said, “110 years.” I told you he was funny.
Next, I take one of the working escalators up a level to continue the exploration. This particular escalator begins in a food court area that is full of elderly men-- but not as elderly as the Teacher-lover lady– all having their afternoon beer. There’s a full table butted up to the escalator, all staring at the only Caucasian in the mall (me). I’m cool, very cool, and comfortable being the only Caucasian in the mall, and on the escalator, so I casually (and coolly) lean over and place my elbows on the black escalator track, my hands hanging over the edge. I’m cool, nodding a greeting confidently at the older beer drinkers as I’m moved along by the escalator. I’m cool, as my left hand, gliding along with the rail, perfectly snags the drinker’s grocery bag that was sitting on the edge of the table and lifts it up, up and away. My hand went through the handle! If I were a thief I couldn’t have been any smoother. Their grocery bag is now mine. After I shit myself in fear and disbelief, I realized my mistake, took several steps down the up escalator, lowered the grocery bag back to the table, and began repeating, “sorry, sorry, sorry…” as fast as I can, turn and walk up the escalator to speed my retreat. No one followed or said a word. It’s not every day a Caucasian grocery bag thief visits the Golden Mile.
The rest of the mall was either travel agents, karaoke bars which weren’t much bigger than a small café, massage parlors, religious stores selling every type of Buddha’s, a few tattoo parlors (see, just like a Texas strip center), this was the surprise – mail order bride shops. I’ve heard of them, seen TV shows make fun of them, but never have I seen one in person. After the grocery bag incident I was a bit hesitant to push my luck, but there were so many of them I couldn’t resist. About half were closed. One in particular was the Ideal Marriage Center www.idealbride.sg where they advertise “Select your bride on the spot or visit Hainan or Vietnam and choose from hundred of beauties over there” – “Our Philosophy -- Integrity, Practical Service, Best Service”. (I don’t guarantee the website’s safety, but I went to it and looked and nothing seems to have happened to my computer – it’s interesting). The ones that were open appeared to be a one stop shop. Each of them had women lounging about in the lobby who looked remarkably like the Vietnamese mail-order brides in the photos on their walls. I saw no purpose in pursuing the issue further. Though I reserve the right to do further research later.
With 15 minutes to spare and my teacher asleep, I decided to explore the Golden Mile Tower or “Little Thailand” where the studio (lightly, again) is located. It’s an odd half-mall, half office-building type of building that I don’t think I’ve ever seen anywhere except Asia – it’s as if they put the nastiest strip center, along with the nasty strip center next to it, and the next one, all in the same older, smaller mall. Then someone closed up some of the skylights and broke a few of the too narrow escalators, and turned off about half the lights. The first amusement I came upon was outside a shop selling camouflage items and advertising that they’d sew on your army patches. Outside this Asian Academy Surplus was a lawn chair with the most shrunken little old lady I’ve ever seen, at least 95 years old, wrapped in a blanket and wearing a too big baseball cap that said “I Love Teachers” pulled down over her eyes. She was being force fed a gruel by a younger woman (remember, all in front of a shop in a mall). When later I asked Mr. Tan how long she had been there he said, “110 years.” I told you he was funny.
Next, I take one of the working escalators up a level to continue the exploration. This particular escalator begins in a food court area that is full of elderly men-- but not as elderly as the Teacher-lover lady– all having their afternoon beer. There’s a full table butted up to the escalator, all staring at the only Caucasian in the mall (me). I’m cool, very cool, and comfortable being the only Caucasian in the mall, and on the escalator, so I casually (and coolly) lean over and place my elbows on the black escalator track, my hands hanging over the edge. I’m cool, nodding a greeting confidently at the older beer drinkers as I’m moved along by the escalator. I’m cool, as my left hand, gliding along with the rail, perfectly snags the drinker’s grocery bag that was sitting on the edge of the table and lifts it up, up and away. My hand went through the handle! If I were a thief I couldn’t have been any smoother. Their grocery bag is now mine. After I shit myself in fear and disbelief, I realized my mistake, took several steps down the up escalator, lowered the grocery bag back to the table, and began repeating, “sorry, sorry, sorry…” as fast as I can, turn and walk up the escalator to speed my retreat. No one followed or said a word. It’s not every day a Caucasian grocery bag thief visits the Golden Mile.
The rest of the mall was either travel agents, karaoke bars which weren’t much bigger than a small café, massage parlors, religious stores selling every type of Buddha’s, a few tattoo parlors (see, just like a Texas strip center), this was the surprise – mail order bride shops. I’ve heard of them, seen TV shows make fun of them, but never have I seen one in person. After the grocery bag incident I was a bit hesitant to push my luck, but there were so many of them I couldn’t resist. About half were closed. One in particular was the Ideal Marriage Center www.idealbride.sg where they advertise “Select your bride on the spot or visit Hainan or Vietnam and choose from hundred of beauties over there” – “Our Philosophy -- Integrity, Practical Service, Best Service”. (I don’t guarantee the website’s safety, but I went to it and looked and nothing seems to have happened to my computer – it’s interesting). The ones that were open appeared to be a one stop shop. Each of them had women lounging about in the lobby who looked remarkably like the Vietnamese mail-order brides in the photos on their walls. I saw no purpose in pursuing the issue further. Though I reserve the right to do further research later.
It’s all fun and games until it hits home. While cooking dinner – yes, I helped – I was discussing my exploits with Cenie. I think I was telling her how sad the whole buy-a-bride thing is. Apparently she didn’t hear the sad part because she proceeded to tell me how she sent in her resume (somewhere) when she was younger and was contacted by a man. The American man moved to Hong Kong and she moved to Hong Kong. They had a year and a half relationship. He was 45. She wasn’t. He wanted to get married, but she didn’t so that was it. That was it except for her Aunt in Los Angeles who tried to arrange a marriage with an American man which she also rejected. After Hong Kong she moved back to the Philippines and married a Filipino who’s 15 years older than her who she supports. Not sure if that’s better, but who am I to say…
And thus ends the Day at The Golden Mile. At least I’m not being caned for petty grocery bag theft. Yet.
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