All my
trousers and shirts appear to have mysteriously shrunk. Or have they shrank?
Irrespective I am in somewhat of a quandary how this has occurred.
One of the
more audacious English with whom I work has suggested that I am larger in the
girth after my recent travels to the United Kingdom and my beloved Australia
but I have scoffed at this. I scoff at much of what the English say. It is a
fundamental duty and responsibility of all Australians to scoff at the English.
I am fond of
the word quandary and as a rule I generally like most words that began with the
letter 'Q'. It is useful and quite valuable when playing the game of scrabble
as well if one can strategically place it on a triple letter score square. A
quandary is a state of perplexity. It is a state that I am often in given that
I reside in Singapore. Many things perplex me here. It is quite queer but I
shouldn't quibble. Oops. I appear to have slipped into a 'Q word frenzy.
I shall now
quit.
Etymologists
believe that the origins of the word quandary are Latin and it was derived from
the term 'quango' - which meant both 'when?' and 'who'?
Despite the
outrageous accusation by the audacious Englishman that I may have put on
weight, I have decided to recommence the swimming program that I abandoned some
months ago. After work each evening I now slip into my somewhat tight speedos
and I don my swimming goggles and swim a very slow kilometer in the pool at my
apartment complex. After my swim this evening I was exhausted and after
toweling myself dry I lay down for a while on one of the comfortable sun chairs
that are positioned poolside.
I
unintentionally dozed off for a while and was awakened suddenly and
unexpectedly by the pungent odor of what smelled like rancid anchovies. Or is
it smelt? Irrespective, I opened my eyes and was greatly surprised to see the
bespectacled face of the building manager Mr. Tan only inches away from my own.
The shock caused me to jerk my head forward and I very accidentally head butted
the little fellow. He was knocked back quite violently, his glasses went flying
and he landed on his ass. The force of the contact rolled me off the side of
the deck chair.
"What
the fuck Mr. Tan?" I semi yelled as I rose unsteadily to my feet - rubbing my already
bruising temple.
I took a
couple of staggering steps towards the prostrate building manager to help him
to his feet but I was beaten to him by the two security guards of my complex -
Raj and Raj.
Mr. Tan was
assisted to his feet with a Raj on either side of him. He was groggy and
unsteady and there was a trickle of blood above his left eyebrow.
"I am
so sorry Mr. Peter" Mr. Tan croaked.
At my approach
the two Raj's suddenly and inexplicably let go of Mr. Tan and they snapped to
an immediate attention. Mr. Tan promptly fell to his knees.
"Jesus
Christ Raj and Raj" I declared.
"Will
you stop bloody saluting me and help Mr. Tan"
Looks of
uncertainty crossed the faces of both Raj's. One dropped his salute and bent
down to help Mr. Tan to his feet whilst the other remained in a stoic saluting
position.
The saluting
situation with the Raj's has gotten completely out of control. Or is it got? I
have lately been taking the long way around to enter my apartment complex and
have been sneaking in the rear gate simply to avoid the salutes that the Raj
guards give me. It is embarrassing and uncomfortable and they refuse to stop.
The Raj
assisting Mr. Tan helped him to a deck chair where he sat dazed and rubbing his
head.
"What
the hell were you doing putting your face so close to mine Mr. Tan" I enquired.
"He
had been thinking that you were being kilted Mr. Peter sir and was being upon
checking that you were being breathing" the Raj who was not saluting replied.
"Kilted?" I asked.
"Made
deaded by a heart attacking or kilted by the Danelanderish mens" Raj said.
The 'Danelanderish
mens' that the non-saluting Raj was referring to is Jens my somewhat insane
Danish neighbour. 'Kilted" is Raj talk for 'killed'.
A kilt is a
dress for men worn by the Scots. It has been around since the sixteenth century
in Scotland and is generally made from woolen tartan material. The Scottish
word 'kilt' means 'to tuck up the clothes around the body' - which is one heck
of a big description for such a small word. The Scots wore their kilts into
battle - and adorning such girlish attire allowed them freedom of movement to charge
into their enemies. Their enemies were mostly the English. There is some
suggestion that the Scots in the seventeenth century actually removed their
kilts when they fought. It has also been suggested that Scottish soldiers wore
no underpants beneath their kilts - so they fought naked from the waist down.
This would have been a fearsome sight indeed.
"I was
just bloody sleeping" I informed the Raj.
"At
ease"
I barked at the other Raj - who then dropped his salute and rushed to the other
side of the seated Mr. Tan. Or is it sitting? I am a bit dazed and confused.
"I am
sorry Mr. Peter but I was worried that you were not conscious and I was
checking that you were breathing" Mr. Tan said.
"Where
are my glasses?" he asked.
"They
are having being knocked into the swimming pool Mr. Tan sir" a Raj reported
"Get
them"
ordered Mr. Tan
One of the
Raj's went to the side of the pool and made to plunge himself into the water.
He was fully clothed.
"What
the fuck Raj" I said
"Don't
jump into the bloody pool. I will get them"
The Raj
hesitated and I jumped into the pool and dove down to retrieve Mr. Tan's
glasses. One of the lens was broken and the frames were twisted. Our head
collision was quite a violent one.
"Are
you Ok Mr. Tan?" I asked as I handed him his spectacles.
"Do
you need me to call a doctor?"
I could see
that the blood above his eyebrow was from a small cut and was not exactly
flowing.
"I am
alright Mr. Peter" he replied
"I am
so sorry for banging your head" he added.
"You
scared the fuck out of me Mr. Tan. A simple poke would have sufficed rather
than sticking your face in mine".
"I am
so sorry Mr. Peter" he repeated.
"Don't
worry about it. Are you sure that you are OK?"
"I am
fine"
"Do
you have another pair of glasses?" I enquired.
"I think
those ones are cactus"
"I
have more in my office" he replied.
"Whereabouts
Mr. Tan? I will go and get them for you"
"No no
Mr. Peter I will get them myself"
Mr. Tan rose a
bit unsteadily to his feet with his fractured and twisted glasses perched equally
unsteadily on his nose.
"I
think you guys should probably help Mr. Tan back to his office" I suggested to the two
Raj's.
"Maybe
I should call a doctor just to make sure that you are OK Mr. Tan?"
"No no
Mr. Peter" he said again.
"We
are being very most glad that you are not being deaded Mr. Peter sir" a Raj said
"I am
very glad that I am not deaded too Raj"
Bizarrely this
triggered both Raj's into an immediate salute again. The madness of this
baffles and now distresses me.
"Listen
is there any way I can stop you guys from saluting me all the time?" I asked.
"We
will never being stopping from saluting you in our respectfulness of you Mr.
Peter sir" a Raj responded.
"Never?"
"Never
sir"
"Oh
fuck"
I sighed.
"At
ease then boys and please help Mr. Tan back to his office"
"With
most certainly and assuredly Mr. Peter sir" the other Raj said.
They both then
dropped their salutes and one held onto each of Mr. Tan's arms. I watched them
slowly but gently escort the hobbling Mr. Tan towards his office then I grabbed
my towel and rubbing my sore forehead made my way towards the lift lobby.
This whole
salutation thing is doing my head in and I need to work out a way to make it to
stop.
I
feel a throbbing headache coming on.
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