Thursday, April 3, 2008

What The?

I came across three teenaged boys at 7-11, all donned up in white shirts, green trousers and black shoes. They looked the typical secondary school boys, except for two distinctive factors. 1. They were sporting black shoes. 2. They look and sound different.

The fact that they were wearing black shoes shouldn’t be a strange factor. But I notice that schools around my area do not have boys wearing black shoes, unless they’re some sort of union-group members i.e prefects, librarians, etc. Then their uniforms will be different. Different, weird and in the school’s attempt to outdo other schools on the who-can-design-the-most-outrageous-uniform… I must say, downright ugly too. Sorry. Just my personal opinion. These boys on the other hand, were wearing the normal public school attire.

They look different. This mainly is again, because the norm in my area, the boys normally look outrageously good looking, hair symmetrically razored and cut to the ‘in’ do of the moment – Ariel Peter Pan look-alikes, some Korean “My name is Rain” superstar or laid back 'I couldn’t care less' hair, which screams a minimum RM100 tag. Yup. The local school boys here don’t even look of any particular race anymore. Fused and scrambled in a concoction of easy money, they now all look like each other and related somehow, like an osmosis product in a melting pot.

Now, these boys were different. They were all in short, no nonsense haircuts, cuts that carries the proud look and feel of kedai India barbershops, the ones with the blue, white and red pole of spiral stripes lighting up to clearly indicate that they’re open for business. They were strong, male, macho cuts. Not some namby-pamby boy band cuts. And these boys wore them well. (Although I have to admit that they were fair, tall, lanky and err… red-lipped too… but you can tell, they were boys through and through. No gender confusion here).

They sound different. Okay, this is why my attention turned to them. I am not, (I stress) in the habit of checking out school boys in their uniforms. I am not the female version of Males leering at Brittney Spears in pigtails. Yuckss! The reason I found these boys interesting, was because of their conversation.

Boy 1 : “Apa la engkau ni, banyak cekadak betul… Beli je la…”
Boy 2 : “Taknak la. Nanti warden tangkap, mati aku…”
Boy 1 : “ Ala… beli je la. Kalau kau beli, aku tabik spring dengan kau…”
Boy 2 : “Taknak. Kalau kena penampar maut dengan warden, confirm bapak aku pun tumpang belasah aku sekali…”
Boy 1 : “Aku cover la. Kau jalan dulu. Kalau problem, campak je. Aku tunggu kat Tangga Bradley…”
Boy 3 : “Eh, aku pun nak. Aku derb!”

I had to laugh when I heard them. First, they were using phrases that I used to use when I attended that certain boarding school, back in all those years. Its good to know that the underlined phrases are still alive and doing their rounds. I used and abused the same phrases right up to Form Five, and mysteriously, they left me when I left the school. Although I could have sounded different since I was banned from ever using “Engkau-Aku” phrases, no thanks to mummy dearest spreading red chilly on my mouth when she first heard me using them with a friend over the phone. Suffice to say, I can’t even say those terms again without feeling a chill(y). Apart from that, the boarding school lingo was still part and parcel of everyday talk. In school that is. It somehow didn’t fit my home environment.

But, I swear, my heart literally stopped when Boy 1 mentioned “Tangga Bradley”. The same staircase that we were forced to step up and down, and count and recount every step during Orientation Week. The stairs that we used to go back and forth from class-hostel-prep-dewan makan-hostel. The connector of two lives – the academic and the appearingly normal. Runs deep in history, those stairs.

So, me being me, I couldn’t contain my excitement, and approached the boys.

Me : “Adik, U all ni sekolah asrama kan? Sekolah “tut-tut-tut” ke?”
Boy : “ Betul la tu”.
Me : “ Yang Selangor ke yang KL?”
Boy : “ Yang original la… yang KL. Yang Selangor tak ori…”
Me : (chuckled, completely agreeing with them)

Then came the Mother of all questions. The missile that rudely jerked me out of memory lane, back to the harsh world of reality.

Boy : “Kenapa Aunty? Anak Aunty sekolah situ ke? Form berapa? Entah-entah kitorang kenal…”

What the…? Aunty? I’m only in my thirties, and you call me Aunty? Do I look Aunty-ish to you? You’re bigger and taller than me, and YOU call me Aunty? And “Anak Aunty sekolah situ?” What sort of question is that? My anak just started primary school, but you think I’m Aunty enough to have a child in your class? What, you think I got married at 17?

Poor boys. They never knew what hit them. With a cold stare, I brushed them aside abruptly, paid my purchases and stormed off. Two steps off. Then I realized what an ‘Itch with a silent B’ I was, turned back and said sweetly, “Takla… Akak yang dulu sekolah situ. Kirim salam kat Tangga Bradley nanti, ye….”

Then it hit me too. First, I became paranoid when being termed “Aunty”, when in fact I was termed as such by Decepticons’ friends. Talk about being in serious denial. Then, this paranoid being of an Aunty asked to send her regards to … a staircase. Even though glamorously named “Bradley”, it was and still is a tangga. What the…?

It could be slow signs of dementia. It could be apparent signs of identity crisis. Whatever it is, I’ve got to work on it fast. Memalukan sungguh…..