On Power Trips, Stewing and A BAO
1.15am.
Four people sat stewing in the darkness. One was stewing considerably more violently than the other three. Just fifteen minutes ago, she'd been sleeping peacefully in her air-conditioned room, most probably on the verge of R.E.M. whereupon a phonecall from her son had distracted both eyes from their frenzy and cruelly forced them to open.
Following the titanic struggle to leave her bed, she had been informed by her two torchlight-toting children that there'd been a power trip and that they needed a number to call. (The fourth person, the daughter's boyfriend, wisely decided to keep his peace in the darkness.) After a sustained frown, the newly awakened made her first utterance. A sagely “Wah lau!”
Much muttering and shuffling around then followed. A name card album was whipped out and scoured where the card of an electrician dubiously named A BAO presented itself to the sweating four. “24 hours electrician” it read. “That's it!” four brains simultaneously thought. Within 30 seconds, however, the eyes connected to those brains were once again frantically searching for an electrician in the classifieds, this time preferably for one that didn't charge $80 for the service, $80 for transport and who wouldn't “only come in the morning”. One of those brains, moreover, was also filled with images of A BAO being hung alive with a meat hook. Fortunately for the quartet and for A BAO, they did eventually manage to locate a proper 24-hour electrician. “10-15 minutes,” he'd said.
And so the four now stewed in the darkness. “Fan me, fan me!” the mother said. The daughter giggled and started fanning. “This is the time for family bonding,” she cheerfully said. “Bond what bond! So late still bond.” was the reply from the mother, who by now was sweating like an onion in a pan. And so the conversation died. This is what this family is like in a nutshell. The daughter takes after the long-absconded dad. She likes to talk. She likes company. The son takes after the sweating mom. He keeps his crap to himself. He does not sweat as much though.
When the doorbell eventually rings, the 2x2 are already overcooked. The son oozes to the door and lets in the electrician who is surprisingly spritely considering the hour. Torchlight in mouth and screwdriver in hand, he flutters up and down the ladder tweaking this and testing that before declaring a price to the mimi-eyed mother. “$320! Very cheap already. One year guarantee!” he chirps. The son notes with mild interest that for the second time in a night, his mother's eyes have been jolted open.
“$320?!” she hisses. The son watches the electrician cower slightly and smiles to himself in the dark. However, to his disappointment, the mother, having counted to ten and perhaps remembering her Christian principles, loses steam, “Ahhh! Quickly do. Late already.” And so the electrician, grateful for his life, does some more fluttering up and down before triumphantly flicking on the switches. The whole house is suddenly bathed in light. Mother and son start squinting at everything. They are ecstatic. (The sister and boyfriend are by now hopelessly overdone and slumped in some other corner of the house but one assumes that they'd have been ecstatic as well.)
The electrician, still delirious with life, suggests that the remaining two check all of their appliances. The son tries to turn on the microwave. It doesn't work. But he does find a piece of chicken in it. It looks a few hours old. The son puts it in the fridge for tomorrow. The mother has less luck. The washing machine isn't working and she finds no chicken in it. She mutters.
Meanwhile, the electrician zips around the house turning everything on and off, on and off, on and off before flitting off to the circuit box and making some adjustments. A few rounds of zipping and flitting later, he declares that everything is perfect. To make him disappear, the mother reluctantly parts with her money. It's time to sleep.
Four people sat stewing in the darkness. One was stewing considerably more violently than the other three. Just fifteen minutes ago, she'd been sleeping peacefully in her air-conditioned room, most probably on the verge of R.E.M. whereupon a phonecall from her son had distracted both eyes from their frenzy and cruelly forced them to open.
Following the titanic struggle to leave her bed, she had been informed by her two torchlight-toting children that there'd been a power trip and that they needed a number to call. (The fourth person, the daughter's boyfriend, wisely decided to keep his peace in the darkness.) After a sustained frown, the newly awakened made her first utterance. A sagely “Wah lau!”
Much muttering and shuffling around then followed. A name card album was whipped out and scoured where the card of an electrician dubiously named A BAO presented itself to the sweating four. “24 hours electrician” it read. “That's it!” four brains simultaneously thought. Within 30 seconds, however, the eyes connected to those brains were once again frantically searching for an electrician in the classifieds, this time preferably for one that didn't charge $80 for the service, $80 for transport and who wouldn't “only come in the morning”. One of those brains, moreover, was also filled with images of A BAO being hung alive with a meat hook. Fortunately for the quartet and for A BAO, they did eventually manage to locate a proper 24-hour electrician. “10-15 minutes,” he'd said.
And so the four now stewed in the darkness. “Fan me, fan me!” the mother said. The daughter giggled and started fanning. “This is the time for family bonding,” she cheerfully said. “Bond what bond! So late still bond.” was the reply from the mother, who by now was sweating like an onion in a pan. And so the conversation died. This is what this family is like in a nutshell. The daughter takes after the long-absconded dad. She likes to talk. She likes company. The son takes after the sweating mom. He keeps his crap to himself. He does not sweat as much though.
When the doorbell eventually rings, the 2x2 are already overcooked. The son oozes to the door and lets in the electrician who is surprisingly spritely considering the hour. Torchlight in mouth and screwdriver in hand, he flutters up and down the ladder tweaking this and testing that before declaring a price to the mimi-eyed mother. “$320! Very cheap already. One year guarantee!” he chirps. The son notes with mild interest that for the second time in a night, his mother's eyes have been jolted open.
“$320?!” she hisses. The son watches the electrician cower slightly and smiles to himself in the dark. However, to his disappointment, the mother, having counted to ten and perhaps remembering her Christian principles, loses steam, “Ahhh! Quickly do. Late already.” And so the electrician, grateful for his life, does some more fluttering up and down before triumphantly flicking on the switches. The whole house is suddenly bathed in light. Mother and son start squinting at everything. They are ecstatic. (The sister and boyfriend are by now hopelessly overdone and slumped in some other corner of the house but one assumes that they'd have been ecstatic as well.)
The electrician, still delirious with life, suggests that the remaining two check all of their appliances. The son tries to turn on the microwave. It doesn't work. But he does find a piece of chicken in it. It looks a few hours old. The son puts it in the fridge for tomorrow. The mother has less luck. The washing machine isn't working and she finds no chicken in it. She mutters.
Meanwhile, the electrician zips around the house turning everything on and off, on and off, on and off before flitting off to the circuit box and making some adjustments. A few rounds of zipping and flitting later, he declares that everything is perfect. To make him disappear, the mother reluctantly parts with her money. It's time to sleep.
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