Uncle Cabbie

So here’s a weird little factoid for your amusement. As a sign of respect, people in the know call Singapore cab drivers, “Uncle”. It doesn’t matter if they are older or younger, local or foreign. Apparently your aunt’s husband is the man with the plan for navigating the city’s heavily trafficked roadways.

I’ve tried using the endearment a couple of times in hopes of prompting a fare-reducing route. The thing is, the saying comes about as natural to me as a snap-on Afro and a white on white fist pound on the B-ball court.  You might nail the lay-up, but it still looks cheesy when you’re metaphorically rocking black socks in the gym class of life.

Anyway, it was all for naught. Singapore is so riddled with regulations that the cabbies couldn’t help you if they wanted to….which they don’t. None do. 

Cabstands and single file cues reign over the midtown arm hail. So much for body-checking those yogurt-slurping yuppies out of the way to make that 9 o’clock downtown. And you can’t jump out midstream if traffic piles up. You’re in for the ride baby, so bring your Visa ‘cause Uncle don’t take bullshit and fare jumpers are sent to the gallows or so they tell it.

You can book a cab from your office or hotel, but they add on an extra $3.50 for the pleasure. There’s also 10% more for charging it, a 35% tack on for peak hours (every waking moment or so it seems), and I believe a variable, wise-ass gringo charge, though I’m not certain about that last one.

Of course you could take the bus for like 6 cents, but it’s the bus for God sakes and at 147 degrees in the shade it’s better to just avert your glance from the meter and think of Christmas. 

Still there are ways around the some of this nonsense. Saying uncle is a good start, but being a regular doesn’t hurt either.  You’ll save some booking fees and may get the occasional jump out if you’re both up for risking a ticket.  Leave it to me to find a way to earn a car-less citation.  Always the overachiever.

In fairness, it’s not all one-sided woe. My Uncle this morning bitched endlessly about his first fare…his twin daughters. Not only did they expect a free ride and noon pick up, but they bummed mall money to boot… for boots actually if you can believe it.  I sympathized and somehow the booking fee disappeared. Petty? Perhaps.  But a bucks a buck baby, even when it’s a Singapore dollar.  

Streetlife Serenade

Picture these guys singing your favorite pop song only replace all the L’s with R’s and throw in a couple of tambourines.  I shit you not, the duo loved them some percussion. 

I wonder sometimes what it would be like to chuck it all, ditch the 9 to 5 (or 7 to 6 as the case might be) and become one of these wandering melody makers.  I have the songs to be sure and with some dedication I’m certain I could stumble through enough keys to make them appear rhythmically correct.  So what then is hold up?

When you think about it, I’d have the same city, the same view.  There’d be different concerns no doubt, but probably no more or less than those currently sponsoring my insomnia. 

In an honest moment I think it’s a matter of guts and a potentially warped opinion of what one should be doing, chasing, wanting, being.  That or an unending affinity for pressed pants and leather bucket seats. 

Yeah, sometimes the idea of something is far better than the something itself.  The closer you get to its realities, the more doubts you have and when you finally muster the courage to hop the fence make a break for the so-called greener grass, you realize your neighbor is barbequing on Astroturf.   Perhaps there is no best way… only options.

Maybe someone should warn generation Z that there’s a choice on the horizon, that no matter how hard or long we pretend, in the end you can only travel one road. They’ll be dancing for sure, but certainly not on Thursday afternoons, and in the end we all have to sing for our supper. Then again, perhaps we should leave them be. No point in ushering Santa out the door.  His days are numbered and that’s sad enough as it is.

So go on melody makers, croon your tunes slightly off key.  I’ll drop a buck in the bucket.  The rain is a coming and deep down I don’t have the gumption for the Nikey shuffle.  I’m a cabman.  Still, I appreciate the song and the glimpse of the road not taken.  Maybe next time bravery will take root.  

Keep Dreamin'

RC

Grande, Venti, Stupid and Gay

Well hello there folks. As many of you know, I just arrived in Singapore for a 6 month gig.  And so far I've found a grocery, a CVS like substance and a wine shop.  (aka the staples of life).

As an FYI I'm going to blame all future spelling mistakes on jet lag and pinot noir. Also, I expect forgiveness for the overwhelming cheesiness of this blog's look and feel.  I know as much about technology as an aardvark knows about East Hungarian cabinet making so chill my amigos, chill indeed. More disclaimers to follow no doubt. 

Okay so the name of this blog is The Lonesome Chopstick.  No, I'm not all depressed or anything. Actually, it's quite literal.  I can't use the damn things and thus resort to using just one and stabbing anything that gets in my way.  (keep your hands and feet away from his mouth at all times.)

Anyway, the point of this first entry was to introduce the title, purpose and all that nonsense they teach you in grammar school.  I almost said "theme" but promptly shut up. 

I was struck with an interesting thought (still looking for the guy who threw it).  Actually it was more of a comforting rant than a complete thought, one that I hope explains the title of this entry.

I'll have you know that there are like a million Starbucks in Singapore.  Okay, I can forgive the overall commercialism. After all, I idolized Alex P Keaton  as a boy.  Long live the power tie. Still, it's the general douchebaggery that brings me down.  I traveled around the world only to find the same tree-hugging, novel-writing, mocha-frappa-lapa-chino slurping dickweeds (now there's a term you haven't heard in a while)  that I could see at the corner of "who gives a shit" and "whatever". It's sort of depressing.

On the other hand, it is sort of encouraging.  Maybe we are all not so different. Maybe hazelnut and java beans are the connecting and stabilizing forces of the universe. Couldn't say.  What I can say is that I'm out of chips and vino. 

Talk soon.  Pics of the city to follow.  

Keep dreamin'

RC/TT (most of you know the drill)