Markers

Yup, very useful when it comes to three-point turns.

First was the pile of rocks. Instructor will be screaming: “Go go go! Don’t stop until your shoulders are parallel with the rocks!” And on the day of the driving tests? The JPJ testers coolly kicked loose the pyramid, much to the chagrin of both instructors and students alike.

Next was the brainchild of my own instructor – to plant a tree! It was more of a small leafy thing that eventually wilted because no one cared to water it.

Then another instructor came along with another greenery. That was last week. This one seemed to have more chance of survival because it was pretty lush looking.

Today I turned into the small alley for a shot at three-point turning. I had just straightened out my car when I looked right, and lo and behold! I had no marker as a reference!!!

Upon consulting my instructor (because thank God that wasn’t an exam), I was told that the JPJ had kindly uprooted the poor plant during the last testing.

Me: *Panicky voice* “So what do I look out for now?”
Instructor: “OK, see this roadside curb? Use the 2nd black one from the front.”
Me: *Heaves sigh of relief and thinks: at least the JPJ can’t destroy that one*

Again, this proves that Malaysian education is useless. We study by memorizing things, or carry out actions by following markers. What if I’m on the road? Do I take time to count the curb’s colorings? Or look out for scratches upon the road for my side parking? Education in Malaysia is useless I tell you.

Biology, revisited

WARNING: This post contains a recount of an extremely gross event. If you are eating anything right now (especially mangoes), please save the reading for later when you have digested your food.

I took a shower after doing my business in the toilet. While cleaning up the holemostofyoupervertswanttoenterthemost, I brushed against something. I tried scrubbing it vigorously with my index and middle finger – didn’t work. This seems to be one hell of a stubborn piece of shit! I thought, and scrubbed even harder. Then it occurred to me that it was not something stuck on the rim of my anus. It was something dangling out of it.

I tugged at it, because hey! What else could I do? Leave that hanging there until the next time I want to excrete? It was disgusting I tell you. I pulled out nearly 3 inches of that thing, and throughout the whole time? I just felt all weirded out.

It was like I was doing what nature was supposed to do for me naturally. Tugging out your own shit is basically not one of the involuntary reflexes. But I did it anyway.

Turns out it was the fiber from the mangoes I consumed just this afternoon (I had to check in case it was a worm or other). This hereby proves what we have all learned in high school – fiber is not digested by the stomach because we’re not cows!

But I guess my fiber didn’t co-operate with the rest of the bulk of my shit.

What I'm doing pre-Drake

Seriously, whenever I go through my monthly/yearly expenses, I roll my eyes at what I have spent on.

Why the fuck do I pay RM20++ just to get into a theme park? Why the need to have such cheap thrills? As if I don’t get enough of a heart attack each time I sit for a test. Now, I hand people cash to deliver those adrenaline-inducing moments to me.

Point is, I don’t even rush to the cliché rides all you people go for:

1. The rollercoaster


2. The machine that jerks you unceremoniously left right up down (aptly and creatively named DNA Mixer in Cosmo World Theme Park)


3. The machine that shoots you high up into the sky, allows you a few precious moments of dangling in the air, and that lets you free fall afterwards (Solero Shot in Genting Highlands Theme Park)

Of course, since I have paid a total of RM20++, I have to make it worth my money. So, I do end up rushing and queuing like a total loser for the “best rollercoaster ride this side of the country”.

You ask: why even bother stepping over the threshold of loser land (and paying for it mind you), when all I could do is sit at home, enjoy a cup of tea, and stop whining?

I tell you why.

I totally dig bumper cars.

Or even better, go-karts.

Those tiny make-believe cars were the closest I ever had to driving a real machine back when I was 18. (Don’t laugh. I only started driving lessons at age 20). It felt so exhilarating, the way I could control the machine. Boy, it was even cooler that I could overtake most of the boys on the track! Because of that, I was always eager to learn how to drive – on the road, with a real car.

And that chance was finally seized just a few weeks back when I signed up for driving class.

First off though, I had to go through the hurdle of the pointless 5-hour talk. I don’t see what was the fucking use of having someone go through PowerPoint slides one by one and rattle off them. Come on, I could understand the content easily enough by reading the law book.

Then I realized just how daunting reading the book actually proved to be.

For one, the text was just so horribly wrong in grammar, punctuation and whatnots, I feared greatly for my weak understanding in Bahasa Malaysia after reading through it. The kind JPJ (Road Ministry) people also had this other book which contained 500 mock questions to enhance our knowledge. In fact, it was promised that if you perused the book and answered all questions, you would have no problems at all passing the test.

I had two different copies of the 500 question book (different publications apparently). So, being extra hardworking, I decided to do both of them. Guess what I found.

1. Each book boasted of 500 questions. Yeah right, that’s more like 250 questions repeated twice, but placed in random order.


2. There were different answers to some of the repeated questions in a single book


3. The 2 different publications also boasted of different answers to strikingly similar questions

No wonder Malaysia is not as advanced as other countries. We can’t even keep our facts straight in order to instill knowledge in our children.

During the computerized law test itself (felt like TOEFL but less advanced), I had the great opportunity to sit next to this faggot WHO. WAS. BEING. A. TOTAL. ASSHOLE. (and an illiterate one too)

When you are in front of the computer, you will be greeted by this screen with a textbox. Reading through the surrounding text will tell you that you have to type in your IC number.

Asshole came waltzing into the room, plonked down on his seat, and probably sat there in stunned silent stupidity. Take note that I was already answering question number 16 or other by then.

Asshole looks over to my cubicle and proceeds to ask: what do I fill in this blank spot? Do I write my name?

HELLO!

Read la! It clearly tells you to fill in your IC number what. Besides, I don’t think the government could care less what fancy name you were christened with. To them, we are all just a bunch of numbers anyway.

Another proof that he couldn’t fucking read: Right outside the examination room was a BIG sign prohibiting handphones. Heck, I even had to leave my wallet outside the room with the receptionist. But this asshole brought his handphone in. This jerk even had the nerve to leave it loud and ringing for the world to hear! And yes, he coolly answered each and every call or message during the exam.

Then there was yet another talk to attend – this one to teach us how to change car wheels and oil. *snorts* Apparently the JPJ wanted to educate helpless females in the event that they are left stranded on the road with a burst wheel. Yeah, the instructor was even citing examples of females getting raped because they asked passing motorists for help.

Funny thing was, the only activity we did was to crowd around a car and to watch as the instructor pointed out various car parts, and to demonstrate how he changed the wheel. By the end of it, the message clearly sent out was: just call for assistance from a nearby mechanic. Helpful, eh?

Never mind. I was still psyched up for driving class.

And then I realized my driving instructor was a total bastard. For one, he seemed to think the world was laid at his feet, and that he controlled the works. He was coolly telling me how he holds some sort of power over the JPJ officers. You see, in order to be legally allowed out onto the road, you have to be tested first by the JPJ. Failure rates are extremely high, but it’s usually due to the JPJ having some sort of stupid quota to follow. Like, there must be 3/10 failures in each testing or the officer might be suspected of not doing his job well.

It’s even worse when your own instructor is the one who makes you fail.

Because that’s what happened to one poor girl who had the cheek to insult the above-mentioned driving instructor (oh, the nerve!). He boasted that he told the JPJ to fail her, even though she had no problems driving on the road.

Do I hear a threat in that or what?

It means I can’t voice my opinions to him if I really did hate him (and I do, mind you). It means I have to be constantly sweet and on his side. It means when we talk I have to boost his ego and make him like me.

Ugh.

And he was a lazy bastard alright. I have 1 hour lessons and 3 hour breaks. Breaks are pointless to me because what am I supposed to do then? Take out my cigarette and have a long deep puffing session? There are no shops around that deserted driving place for me to browse around. All I can do is sit and watch the happenings at the reception desk, marvel at how skanky the boss’wife dresses, or debate whether the boss’ son is more to cute or to pretty boy material.

Not only that, this driving instructor is soooo tardy. He tells me he’ll pick me up at 9, but he comes at 10 because he overslept. He tells me 9 the next lesson, but he doesn’t even appear at all. I called him at 10.

Me: Where are you?
Him: *distracted tone of voice* Oh I’m at the driving place already.
Me: *thinks what the fuck* So are we having driving class today?
Him: Yeah yeah. Maybe late afternoon.
Me: *pressing on* What time exactly?
Him: 3, 4 something?
Me: OK.

I waited the whole day in my going-out clothes. Didn’t change to normal wear until 6, when it was clear the fucker was not going to show.

Dad was fuming on my behalf, and decided to give the guy a piece of his mind. Uh-oh, I thought. There goes my driver’s license. (Remember it’s a sin to insult this god of a man?)

Thank goodness this lazy bastard has this policy: teach the student for 3 lessons or so, and pass student on to another instructor.

So before I developed the idea of changing instructors, I was whisked off to another one anyway.

The new guy is apparently the helper of the bastard, and I think his sifu’s teachings are slowly wearing off on him. For one, he is tardy too!

But more about that. Let me tell you about this other girl who is annoying the hair off my scalp.

She talks with this grating voice that commands respect and attention (and she’s only 17 = kid). She is demanding. She whines a lot.

Take for example the day my new driving instructor decided to follow in his master’s footsteps and be late. She was having a fit and was screaming and throwing a tantrum at him in a car full of strangers. This bitch had the nerve to answer rudely and snappishly at whatever excuses/reasons the instructor gave. I was thinking to myself: hey girl, I’ve been ffk-ed on a grander scale than you alright.

Another case in point: this driving instructor had his hands full of students, so he asked if we minded not having a class for one week. Well, I was disappointed, but I didn’t make as big a fuss as she did. The instructor was writing in his appointment book and trying to arrange us in to as convenient a time as possible; and there she was, clawing and snatching at the pages. Be a bit more ladylike, can?

Yet just when I thought I’d be free of driving instructor 1’s assholicness, I ended up feeling the second-hand sting of it. Both of us girls were supposed to have more intense driving lessons today. However, before either one of us got more than a spin on the road, driving instructor 2 was summoned to go pick up driving instructor 1’s students. So, we were forced to be sent home.

It’s one thing if you want to earn more money by taking on more students, but another for you to be an irresponsible bastard and to give them crappy lessons. Or to cause your helper to give his students crappy lessons too.

Because of all that, the initial enthusiasm I had in driving is slowly wearing off and dwindling down to nothing. There’s nothing cool about learning about something new but having no time to practice it. It’s a waste of my bloody time. The worse thing of all? You can’t even pick up the phone to screw the bastard nicely. You have to bear all this when in reality your anger is really about to burst and to bash him up as much as possible.