Its The Packaging That Counts (Unfortunately)


About 25 years ago, I was visiting (for the first time) a girlfriend I had just hooked-up with. Since we had known each other only for a short while, there was no way I could tell that she came from an incredibly wealthy family. The address she gave (somewhere near Jalan Duta) should have been a dead giveaway. But being the clueless sod that I am, the significance of the address completely escaped me. As far as us MRSM’ers were concerned, if you lived in that area – chances were – your father was probably from MCKK. But that was OK: Rich folks were human, too – even the ones from MCKK.

When I arrived at the main gate, I found that the driveway meandered off almost into infinity before finally connecting with a speck in the distance which, I can only assume, was the house where my girlfriend lived. Though it was not quite obvious to me at the time, this was yet another sign; one that should have told me to pack it all up and run like mad. Again, being from MRSM, after having been brought up to believe that danger was limited only to particularly effeminate boys who were unfortunate enough to find themselves in an MCKK dormitory on a cold dark night, I pressed on with my initiative by pressing the button on the intercom.

After 10 minutes of talking into crackling static, I finally came to the conclusion that the intercom was not working. Why anyone would install a defective intercom was beyond me. I was about to leave when I noticed something that looked like a golf cart come scurrying down the driveway. Eventually, it arrived at the main gate and out popped an old man who looked terribly like a Coliseum Cafe waiter (except that he was Malay) in his white tunic and brass buttons.

I decided to in introduce myself: “Hello…” I said. “My name is xxxxx and I’m here…” The way looked at me made me stop mid-sentence.

The man with the brass buttons had kind eyes. Not exactly a complete imbecile, I was sensitive enough to discern that there was pity somewhere in there, too. But for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. Did he, somehow, think I was from Victoria Institution? He shook is head with sadness and spoke:

Nak, rumput dah potong… ” (translation: “Son, we’ve already had the grass cut”)


The man with the kind eyes reached out as if to shake my hand. Instinctively, I reached out, too. That was when he slipped me a RM5 note. Before I could protest, explain, or whatever it was that I wanted to do, he was gone – speeding off into the distance on his golf cart.

Perhaps I should dress better the next time I intend to visit a girlfriend. Perhaps I should just dress better. Period!

Unless, of course, I am in dire need of RM5.

8 thoughts on “Its The Packaging That Counts (Unfortunately)

  1. Dear MB,

    Oh!! you had me in stiches Sir… good one this one and plus I am reading it on a public holiday.

    Lets see whether that Mat Salo boy has anything to say in defence of the old boys. LOL! LOL!

    p/s: sorry to have missed seeing you last Sunday. Was hoping you can make it. Next time perhaps?

  2. Salam,

    Dey dude! You trying to fish some response from me? Leave VI out of your crummy minds! But then, I guess you MRSM Serembaners could never huh! I mean, you guys still envy us! lol!

    Btw, here’s another 5 for you πŸ™‚

  3. [diph-thong]

    I suppose they were… once. Then again, so was I… once. *sigh*


    You were from VI?! I rest my case *evil grin*

    Good to hear from you again, bro!


    Glad to know you enjoyed this post. Ahem! We aim to please, ma’am.

    Er… before a flame war erupts, I’d better state that I have nothing against MCKK or VI. In fact, my boss is an MCKK old boy and one of my dearest friends (Cakapaje) is a VI old boy.

    So, there!

  4. Err.. although a bit late in defending the denizens of my alma mater re “…particularly effeminate boys who were unfortunate enough to find themselves in an MCKK dormitory on a cold dark night.” Bangkai, I take exception to this. As far as I could remember it was never “cold dark night”. Rather, hot and humid. It’s lucky you didn’t put in “stormy” either. My English teacher would have had a fit!

  5. [matsalo]

    And defend your alma mater well, you did, sir! Nobody would have expected any less.

    But I guess everybody knows that what I wrote, I wrote in jest. Further, everybody knows that nothing of the sort happened at MCKK – ever! Really! πŸ™‚

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