[Pixs of models for illusration purpose only]
The cool air in the VIP karaoke room of Hot Legs Karaoke & Nightclub was saturated with disgust and contempt. Lust-churning Wati was in a bad mood and almost in tears as she shared with us – Chow Kah, Hussein, Jessica and I – a sad story on how her client’s father had died under extraordinary circumstances. “This kind, 70-year old Pak Cik [elderly gentleman] was my client’s father,” she said. “He was having sex with an Indonesian awek [girl] in a massage centre; he was over-excited by her young age -- early 20's only -- and died of a heart attack! His medical insurance covered critical illnesses such as heart attacks. But the insurer refused to pay.”
“On what grounds?” asked Hussein. The smell of Wati’s come-hither perfume almost made him twitch in his pants; the sight of her pretty face enveloped him in bliss.
“Those crooks claimed that making love with a prostitute was illicit sex. Haram. Technically, the heart attack was caused by an illegal act. Thus, the coverage was null and void.” Wearing an ultra-low-cut tank top sans bra, Wati leaned forward to spear a piece of fried popiah with a plastic skewer, giving everyone a momentary glimpse of her nipples.
“Haaah? True case?” asked chili-hot Jessica, who was taken aback. She turned to her regular companion beside her. “So, Chow Kah...if I sit on your lap, and you die of heart attack, your medical insurance is useless?”
“Dunno lah.” Pressed against the side of Jessica, Chow Kah could feel the heat of her sexy thigh through his pants. Every men would have dirty thoughts racing through his mind just by looking at Jessica: 36-24-38.
Hussein said: “Actually, last week, I was in a dangdut lounge and a drunk yelled ‘All insurance agents are kaki tipu [crooks]!’. A man rushed up to the drunk. ‘Take back what you said.’ The drunk asked ‘Why? You’re an insurance agent? The man answered ‘No, I’m a kaki tipu!'"
Chow Kah cracked some Shandong groundnuts and began feeding Jessica. “Then, don’t buy any insurance, put all your money in the bank,” he said.
“Wrong! Another top crook is a banker, ” Jessica snapped.
“Yup, true, true,” said Hussein with a smirk.
Jessica reciprocated Chow Kah’s kind gesture by holding a mug of Tsingtao to his lips for him to slurp a mouthful. “First, they sweet talk you to apply for a credit card,” she said. “After that, their debt-collection scums come after you like leeches! Once I received a call on my home telephone demanding minimum payment. Okay, fine. Five minutes later, this clown called my handphone -- again reminding me of the minimum payment. Can you believe it? It was the same idiot! And couldn’t speak good Ingrish also!”
Wati uncrossed her tanned legs, momentarily exposing blue panty that wrapped a bubble of flesh as tight as a ketupat. “Try reading the fine print on a banker’s loan document or the booklet that accompanies a credit card. Not only you need a magnifying glass, you also need a lawyer to explain the terms and conditions.”
It was Chow Kah’s turn to regale us with a tale seemingly from Aesop’s fables. “Hey...listen to this story. Once upon a time, a blind rabbit once met a blind snake. The snake coiled itself round the rabbit. You’re warm, fluffy, have long ears, strong hind legs and a twitching nose. You must be a bunny rabbit. Right, said the rabbit. Now let me feel who you are. The rabbit cuddled up to the snake. You’re cold, slimy and have a forked tongue. You must be a banker.”
“The third merciless crook is a property developer,” said Wati. “How many projects have been abandoned, causing wage-earners to lose their life savings? A few developers even start sales and construction without obtaining legal title to the land.”
Hussein gently put an arm over Wati’s shoulder. “Most of their sales people are trained liars. They always claim the prime units facing the swimming pool or the fabuloooous…Twin Towers are sold out. They want to push the lousy units out first – like those facing the rubbish chute. Then, there’s the glossy-brochure trap. Everything looks soooo...nice on paper. But when the keys are delivered, your dream home becomes a nightmare. Shoddy workmanship, foreign security guards who’re stooges and many broken promises.”
“You know why man-eating sharks don’t attack property developers?” asked Wati. “Out of professional courtesy -- they’re the same species.”
“Actually, don’t totally blame the developers,” said Jessica. “The people in the Ministry of Housing also chiak sai one lah! Not strict enough; also not enough enforcement.”
Wati’s twinkling eyes gazed in my direction. “What’s chiak sai?”
I just laughed uncontrollably. Chow Kah, who did not understand Hokkien, kept mum.
/end
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