1 line Don

“Hey Don, I’m missing those amendments that you did two days back”, Jim rattles off over the phone. I can tell that he is about to suffer a panic-attack, he has to deliver the contents in the interactive CDs to his clients in about an hour’s time. “Where the hell can it be?”

“Relax Jim; at the most I’ll duplicate another couple of copies for you” I reassures him as I go through the discs on my war zone of a table. What’s the use of having a maid in our office when I nuke the bloody table looking for a miss placed pen, document, discs and stuff every other day? I find an envelope under a stack of CDs, in it are the discs he past me the other day for the amendments for a job. “It’s right here dude, you sent the copies I made for you along with the originals.”

“Thank God!”

“I’ll scoot over right now. Give me 15.” I scuttle over to my messenger bag and dump the Discs into it, keys and a bunch of other contents into it. It’s no wonder every area 5 metres around me look as if Israel just nuked with some 600kg warhead.

“15 minutes? Thank you man! You’re a life-saver.” He says gratefully as we hang the phone.

Life-saver —that pretty much describes my relationship with most of my clients, like a fire-fighter —put the fire out before it even licks your ass. As I wear my sneakers and briskly walk to my vespa, I think back to those days, where I had to put out some graphics-gone-wrong kind of fire for my current business partners. They used to be my key clients, I took to them the moment I met them. The best clients you can ever have. Of course, they thought the same of me, a supplier that will go the extra mile even if the dough doesn’t pay for the rent. I was a staunch friend(at least I’d like to think so), in the few weeks after we got to know each other, I’ve learnt that they’re simple nice folks who’ll help you out which ever way they can. Take for example the last time K and my company ran into some cash flow problem, they stepped right up and offer whatever they could afford. They weren’t even close friends, I’m glad that even though K and I had stopped working together on the failed business venture, Dan and G had thought I was worth something, and decided to pull me into their company as a partner.

As I near my scooter, I find this spring in my steps, at least there are people who’ll appreciate whatever effort you’ve put in to help them. In times of trouble, they too will be handing out their hands for you to hold on to. I feel so much better now, I just need to buck up and do my best for this bunch of partners.

Wow, Zizou finally said those two words, “I’m sorry.” Not to come across as a French-hater, I love their romantic language, French girls, films, art and culture. There are a few things I don’t like about French too: their arrogance, and their french football team. I’ve never been to France, so I might be subscribing to the stereotypical views from friends who had been there. They refuse to speak L’anglais to you, even though they clearly has command of it, maybe they feel tainted everytime they speak english. I don’t know, maybe the rivalry with England runs deeper than just pure football matches.

What ever it is, whether you like the French or not, it’s no reason to pass any comments about their mother or sister. So, Materazzi’s really lost some points in Italian football fans like me. I’ve always thought Italians were brought up to be respectful of family, insulting the opponent’s parents, family is really the lowest a sportsman can go. The sad thing is: there are spoofs on the internet on the head-butting incident. That’s right, the attention is all on Zizou, hardly anyone blames Materazzi for the provocation.

Why do people always forget about your contribution for so many years, you do one thing wrongly, they all bear down on you and discounts the good and achievements you’ve attained?

Zidane, I just wish to say, even though I like the Azzuri team, I’m glad they’ve won, I think you deserve the award. You’re a hero. You were one of the best.

I wake up to the sound of knocking on the door, from the heavy repetitive knocks; I instinctively recognize that it’s Perry at the door. It reads 1 AM on the digital clock on the television set, let me guess, it’s the World Cup finals. Time to wager on who’s going to bring the trophy home to their country this year. I scramble out of bed; twist the doorknob, swinging the door wide.

“Hey! They kicking off in another hour’s time, you going to place a bet? I’m taking France even though the odds are against them.” Perry rattles off in rapid fire mode. Oh boy, I can feel the heat and spirit of World Cup finals hitting me already. I’m suppose to be at Bencoolen with Ling at 2 AM to watch the match with 300 other supporters from both camps. Tonight, whether you are Black, White, Yellow, Red or brown, you’re either a French supporter or an Italian supporter.

“Let’s have a look at the odds,” I mumbled as I walked into his room. He logs on to his online betting account and refreshes the website. Italy 0.5 to France 0, which means if I happen to root for Italy, they have got to win by at least a goal by 90 minutes in order for me to win the wager. If it happens that they draw the match at fulltime, I lose. Of course, the same applies when you decide to place your money on France, though they only need a draw with Italy for you to win the wager.

“Wow, it’s going to be a tough one this time round.” I contemplate on the merits of the Italian team; they’ve played like some soccer fiends since the Italia Serie A scandal. They’ll have something to prove this year, plus I’ve always been an Azzuri fan too (only if Netherlands isn’t in the match). I’m not much of a gambler anyway; I’ll bite the bullet and just root for Italia, even though the possibility of a draw is high. A hundred on Italy, Azzuri better have some thing to show for tonight! I’ve just cast a vote of confidence and support; I wish they wouldn’t let their fans down. For tonight, they should forget about the match-fixing scandal and trial back home and just concentrate on taking the cup, after a long 24 years wait.

I walk to the bathroom as Perry types in the textbox and places the hundred on Italy. 1:15 AM, I have about 45 minutes to go before the match starts, 30 minutes to get to Bencoolen Street and join the 400 fans out at the coffee shop, rooting for their favorite team. The thought of Italy losing in penalty suddenly seizes my body as I’m washing my face.

It was the year 1994, Italy vs Brazil yielded a 0–0 tie at full-time. Down to the penalty shootout it was, Franco Baresi and Daniele Massaro had already missed two shoots, Roberto Baggio was the next to line the shot, and he missed. Brazil went on to take the cup home. Roberto Baggio, the Divine Ponytail had missed, of course he was made the scapegoat for the lost, but had he scored, Brazil would still be leading with a goal to boot.

I shrug off the unhappy days of yore, leave the house and start my vespa. They will win tonight, they’ll definitely win.

I wake up to the sound of Final Fantasy’s victory tune blasting from my mobile phone. Yes, I dig the Japanese RPG game. Go ahead, say I’m a geek. Feeling better? Yeah, let it all out. At the very least I don’t dig naked construction workers video while pretending to be straight. I got a messenge from Karen.

Karen was my partner in crime when I cheated on Ling, I’m trying to put it behind me. I still keep in contact with her, I call her when ever I thought of her. Nothing had been going on between us for the past two years. Anyway, the messenge goes:” Hey, you free for dinner next monday?”

“Yeah, I guess so” Sunday’s my birthday, Ling probably would want to spend it with me, so Sunday’s out. It’s 11AM, and I’m late for work again. I freshen myself up while waiting for her reply. The victory song plays again as I struggle to get into my corduroy jeans, “You want anything from Paris?” Wow, the coincidence. I just got a Paris Luis Vutton card holder from Perry and now she’s asking if I want anything from there.

Don: Get me a French girlfriend will ya?
Karen: Love to, but it’s too much trouble. I don’t have any lugguage space and it’s too heavy to hand carry. ’sides, I can’t promise it’ll be alive.

I just love this girl, she’s got just as warped a sense of humour as I do.

Don: What are you doing in La Paris anyway?
Karen: It’s a study trip
Don: Ahhh… now I remember, has it been 4 months already? you’re suppose to be there for 4 months right?
Karen: Are you kidding? I’ll die out here if it’s for 4 months.
Don: Ooooo… sounds bad, you don’t get out much do you? The Frenchmen ain’t good lovers?
Karen: Yeah, I stay in pretty much, I almost got you a t-shirt
Don: Ouch, I’m hurt. I thought we had something special, and a lousy t-shirt’s all we got to show?
Karen: Ha! There isn’t really much to get for a guy here you know? Anyway, I’ll keep my eyes peeled, don’t expect a Belle fille française though

There you go, I put on my watch and hastily leave the house. I wonder if I’ll try to get her in bed next monday. I’m trying, trying very hard to keep myself away from her. It’s not good, I got zero self-control. We’ll find out next monday

Alright, I’m a cheapskate. I can’t afford anything that carrys a certain prestige, stuff like Luis Vutton accessories is way out of my league. Perry, a good friend of mine, just won over 2 grand betting on Italy to win the last World Cup match. He calls me on my mobile phone, asks me if I’m free for dinner. Half an hour later, he trods in with a massive smile that overflows like a river during the monsoon season.

“Hey hey! Check this out” He drops a Luis Vutton wallet right in my lap, “You think it’s nice?”

“It’s a LV, what do you mean? Of course it’s nice, it’s a Luis Fucking Vutton pal! The brand itself smells of exclusivity as much as the genuine leather fragrance.” What a dork, he knows I can’t afford it. Okay, maybe I can afford it if I starve myself for the next month, the next next month, the month after the next next… You get the picture? I am a pragmatic person. Branded goods just doesn’t appeal to me when I’m left hungry for the next several months. Can you believe they’ll actually refuse to sell you more than two pieces of each individual product, simply because they have to regulate the brand hungry from snapping everything up? It shows that more than enough people are willing to put money in their coffers because of their successful marketing and branding. I guess all those free samples they give to the celebrities just so they’ll wear/use it for their next movie premiere really paid off.

“It is sponsored by Team Italy” Perry says with a smirk across his countenance.

I didn’t get the “sponsored by Team Italy meaning”, I asks him “What do you mean?”

“I wagered 2 Grand on Italy scoring a win over Germany, and I won.” The Audacity! He didn’t even include me in! Damn! He knew I would have thump another 2G on the top of it. Talk about betting together. Anyway, I’m glad for him, he lost 250 bucks the last time, this time round, he won big.

“And you just spent 600 for this wallet?” I ask, incredulous that he didn’t think of using the winnings for something more practical.

“Nope, and I bought a 300 dollars cardholder for you.” Now, that’s different! At least I get a share of his joy, haha. Hey man, my birthday’s coming soon, it’s an early present.

He hands me a LV paperbag, in there is a extravagantly wrapped paperbox. Even the paperbox looks expensive with the “LUIS VUTTON” brand printed on the front of it. They’re good, so good that even someone who doesn’t appreciates high-end goods, feels a little light-headed at the prospect of about to own one. So, I slide out the box, in there is a cardholder made of dark grey leather, the workmanship’s fantastic, not a single furry out of place thread. I got to give it to the French, it’s no wonder Paris is the fashionista’s paradise. Truth to be told, I’m still not able to shell out 600 for a wallet and 300 for a cardholder. It might change if I make it big in my work. I do have a taste in all things high and fine. Guess it’s all up to you spending power, for now, I’m satisfied with a LV cardholder.