Monday, November 07, 2005
The Man in the Hat
A warm and humid Saturday evening saw me at the hawker centre opposite Harbourfront for a quick dinner before heading back to hostel for a night of (hopefully) productive studying. Yes, you read that right, Saturday night. Saturday night exam fever that is.
Anyway, the Muslim stall where I ordered my nasi goreng was next to a drinks stall, in front of which there were 2 tables. I sat at one of those, looking idly without paying attention to anything in particular as I ate. Occasionally, some prospective looking females would appear from the corner of my eye and the common male instinct to ensure the propagation of mankind would jolt me out of my state of inattention. This was, afterall, the ferrying point for people going to Sentosa Island, a touristy little island with dated yet overpriced attractions, but having perhaps the only beaches worth going to in Singapore, explaining the presence of these females.
It was in between these fluctuating levels of attention that someone else caught my eye. He stood out among the crowd for his scruffiness. A grey fisherman’s hat with patches of black covered his head, the brim just above his eye brows. His ethnicity could not be discerned, such was the extent to which his face was browned and worn out. Week-old stubble in varying shades of grey covered his sagging jowls, and his eyes drooped downwards without showing much signs of energy. The printed polo T-shirt he wore was once dashing violet but had now become an indistinct shade of brown. A pair of grey trousers rolled up at the feet and barely-intact Bata slippers made up the rest of his attire.
Even the torn jeans I had on, which I wear in the workshop and wipe grease stains on, was in better shape.
On one shoulder he slung a travel bag, on the other a black, plastic rubbish bag containing some unknown items, and in his left hand he carried an umbrella which had seen much better times, the quaint floral print long since faded. He walked with a painfully slow shuffle, labouring with each step as everyone else passed him by with nary a glance.
He trudged towards a table opposite mine, and started gathering some plastic cups left by previous customers. There were 4 of them, and he attempted to pick them up by bunching them and putting a finger in each one, clasping them together with his right hand. At his first try, he tumbled one of them and spilled its contents on the table. Undeterred, he repeated this clumsy attempt a few times before successfully getting a hold on all four cups.
As he carried this out, several thoughts went through my mind. Is he a homeless vagabond? What would he want with these cups? Even if he did want them, why take so many? Surely he isn’t going to keep the melting ice for his own consumption? Out of curiosity, I watched him discreetly as he ambled along, carrying his possessions and the 4 cups. Slowly but surely, he made his way to the other table in front of the drink stall, where another middle-aged man was sitting.
When he finally got there, he put the cups down on the table, being careful not to tumble them again. The man, presumably the owner of the drinks stall, thanked him, though he was a little surprised.
An awkward, toothless grin and a shaky wave of the hand was all he gave, before shuffling off to wherever it was he was headed.
***
At hawker centres and food courts, people tend to shun the cleaners who clear the empty dishes and wipe the tables. Instead, they prefer to turn to one side and avoid eye contact, turning around only when the mess has been cleared and the cleaner gone without offering a word of thanks.
Perhaps, it’s the typical Singaporean thing to not bother with such niceties, especially when the other person is doing his job.
“What for? That’s what he’s paid to do anyway.”
It’s an indicator of how far we’ve come towards being a more gracious society. People generally disregard the mess before them and the mess they leave behind, thanks to those hired to clean up before and after. The fact that we even hire people for these jobs, instead of implementing a return system, says something already.
I may have been the only one to witness this show of dignity and thoughtfulness, but it didn’t matter. It’s been a while since I last saw one.
Anyway, the Muslim stall where I ordered my nasi goreng was next to a drinks stall, in front of which there were 2 tables. I sat at one of those, looking idly without paying attention to anything in particular as I ate. Occasionally, some prospective looking females would appear from the corner of my eye and the common male instinct to ensure the propagation of mankind would jolt me out of my state of inattention. This was, afterall, the ferrying point for people going to Sentosa Island, a touristy little island with dated yet overpriced attractions, but having perhaps the only beaches worth going to in Singapore, explaining the presence of these females.
It was in between these fluctuating levels of attention that someone else caught my eye. He stood out among the crowd for his scruffiness. A grey fisherman’s hat with patches of black covered his head, the brim just above his eye brows. His ethnicity could not be discerned, such was the extent to which his face was browned and worn out. Week-old stubble in varying shades of grey covered his sagging jowls, and his eyes drooped downwards without showing much signs of energy. The printed polo T-shirt he wore was once dashing violet but had now become an indistinct shade of brown. A pair of grey trousers rolled up at the feet and barely-intact Bata slippers made up the rest of his attire.
Even the torn jeans I had on, which I wear in the workshop and wipe grease stains on, was in better shape.
On one shoulder he slung a travel bag, on the other a black, plastic rubbish bag containing some unknown items, and in his left hand he carried an umbrella which had seen much better times, the quaint floral print long since faded. He walked with a painfully slow shuffle, labouring with each step as everyone else passed him by with nary a glance.
He trudged towards a table opposite mine, and started gathering some plastic cups left by previous customers. There were 4 of them, and he attempted to pick them up by bunching them and putting a finger in each one, clasping them together with his right hand. At his first try, he tumbled one of them and spilled its contents on the table. Undeterred, he repeated this clumsy attempt a few times before successfully getting a hold on all four cups.
As he carried this out, several thoughts went through my mind. Is he a homeless vagabond? What would he want with these cups? Even if he did want them, why take so many? Surely he isn’t going to keep the melting ice for his own consumption? Out of curiosity, I watched him discreetly as he ambled along, carrying his possessions and the 4 cups. Slowly but surely, he made his way to the other table in front of the drink stall, where another middle-aged man was sitting.
When he finally got there, he put the cups down on the table, being careful not to tumble them again. The man, presumably the owner of the drinks stall, thanked him, though he was a little surprised.
An awkward, toothless grin and a shaky wave of the hand was all he gave, before shuffling off to wherever it was he was headed.
***
At hawker centres and food courts, people tend to shun the cleaners who clear the empty dishes and wipe the tables. Instead, they prefer to turn to one side and avoid eye contact, turning around only when the mess has been cleared and the cleaner gone without offering a word of thanks.
Perhaps, it’s the typical Singaporean thing to not bother with such niceties, especially when the other person is doing his job.
“What for? That’s what he’s paid to do anyway.”
It’s an indicator of how far we’ve come towards being a more gracious society. People generally disregard the mess before them and the mess they leave behind, thanks to those hired to clean up before and after. The fact that we even hire people for these jobs, instead of implementing a return system, says something already.
I may have been the only one to witness this show of dignity and thoughtfulness, but it didn’t matter. It’s been a while since I last saw one.
# posted by BloozeGit @ 1:44 am 
