Professions that are akin to flaunting fake boobs, according to Chinese sinseh Master Mah

Perched behind a counter in a Chinese medical hall, a pimply-faced store assistant swings his gaze to a woman seated nearby and grunts, “Next, Paulina Phuar.” He gestures to Master Mah’s desk in one corner of the store and trots over to hand the sinseh a manila folder.

The young woman goes from the waiting area to settle down at the chair across the sinseh's 

cuffed desk. Two firm curving breasts push her top prominently outward, while her exquisitely shaped legs bare from her thighs downward draw a long ogle from the sales assistant. 

Master Mah glides his gaze from Paulina’s face, cleavage and to her waist. “What’s your problem?”

“I’ve frequent dizzy spells.” Paulina massages her temples with the pads of her thumb and forefinger.

“Let me check your blood pressure.” Master Mah slips the cuff of a digital spyhgmomanometer over the upper arm of Paulina, jabs a button and reads the LED display. “Systolic pressure’s slightly high but dystolic pressure’s normal.” He places two fingers on Paulina’s wrist. “That can be due to work-related stress.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “Nothing wrong physiologically as indicated by your pulse.” He flicks his gaze at Paulina’s face. “You feel the environment’s spinning around you?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of work do you do?” 

A reedy breath floats from Paulina's lips in surprise. “Public relations practitioner.”

“Your dizzy spell is psychosomatic. The mind and body function as one unit. Because your mind's always spinning the truth, going round the mulberry bush, so to speak, your sense of balance has been affected.”

The whites of Paulina’s eyes expand. “Sweet thunderation! I can tweak what you’ve said into an important medical discovery! You know, create a duck out of a feather.” She adjusts her spectacles. “Appoint me as your public relations agent and I can guarantee you interviews in the Medical Journal of Malaysia and the British Medical Journal.”

“Holy blazes! That’s interesting.” Master Mah’s lips quirk as he arches an eye brow. “I never knew that PR’s like your fake boobs! What you see is not what you get. I’ll give your proposal a thought.” He writes something on the manila folder and hands it to the store assistant. “Three packets, once a day, drink before sleeping.”

Paulina opens her handbag and takes out her name card. “Call me when you’ve decided.” She waits at the counter and the store assistant hollers to a twenty-something man, “Your turn, Mister.” Stepping forward, he hands another manila card to the sinseh. 

“What’s wrong with you?” asks the venerable geezer, looking down at the card. “I see, first time here.”

The man adjusts his polka-dot necktie. “My throat’s sore and my gums have boils.” A moustache bisects his nose and upper lip and he’s sporting hair combed straight back.

“Say aaaah.” Master Mah shines a slender torchlight at the man’s throat. “Throat is inflamed.” A pause. “Jeepers creepers! Your incisors’re sharp as fangs!” He asks in jest, “Are you a vampire by night?”

“Nay, I can do better than that.” A heave swells in the patient’s chest. “I’m an insurance salesman.”

“What the fuck! Another profession like fake boobs?” Upright shoots the sinseh, his eyes widening. “What you’re guaranteed, you don’t get.”

“Why you say that?”

“My relative encountered this case. Her granny—with medical insurance— collapsed on the staircase landing, croaked. Then fell to the bottom of the staircase. Autopsy showed a heart attack. The beneficiary filed a claim as a heart attack had killed her. The mother-fuckers refused to pay.  They counter-argued that granny—when still alive—fell down, and then the fall triggered the heart attack. No payment. Death caused directly by the fall, an accident, not directly by the heart attack. Tiew nia ma chow hia!” The geezer casts his gaze down on the manila card, writes on it and hands it over to the patient. “Collect your medicine at the counter, please. Drink twice a day.”

A sneer sprouts on the salesman’s face. “Loopholes and self-legitimized scams are our forte.”  Her expression is as insolent as who-the-fuck-cares?

The next patient is garbed in white long sleeves with white wing collar and bib. He is a few years shy off 40, has a dog-like face, low-browed, with jug ears and a nose hoggishly flat. 

A smile slithers across the sinseh’s wrinkled lips but it does not reach his eyes. “Whoa! You uphold the scales of justice! How honourable!”

“Thank you.” The lawyer allows himself a proud smile. “I won a case this morning.”  His hazel eyes light to attention. “Saved my mobster-client from jail. He was so happy he doubled my fee!”  The flimflammer unbuttons his sleeve and rests his wrist on the small pillow. “My client was charged for possessing heroin.” A little cough puffs out the lawyer’s cheeks. “Sorry, ahem, the charge sheet stated 30 grams, but the chemist’s report—when produced in court— stated 25 grams.  The case was dismissed on technical grounds. Yay! Discrepancy due to evaporation?” The dark-attired snake releases a hyena-like chuckle. “I got someone to fiddle with one of the documents!” He laughs again until his eyes water, and wipes off the tears with one hand.

Master Mah checks the patient’s pulse, then says, “So, you trash justice under the façade of upholding justice? Good, very good.”  After a few beats, the sinseh finishes his diagnosis. “You’ve caught a cold.” The patient removes his wrist from the small pillow.

Racoon-like eyes from the lawyer’s ugly face assess Master Mah. “Wanna talk business? If you get sued for malpractice, gimme a call.” He jags a brow and grins, revealing piranha-like teeth.  “Introduce me a client, you get a 15 percent commission. If that client gets me another client, you get an over-riding of five percent.” He fumbles in his trouser pocket for his wallet and slips out a name card. “Like multi-level marketing.” A politician’s smile veers on his lips.

Master Mah’s flinty eyes dance up to his patient. “The other day, I saw a dead snake and a dead lawyer lying on the DUKE Highway.” He skews him with a look. “I slowed my car as I passed the mangled bodies. There were tyre skid marks around the dead snake but none around the lawyer’s corpse.”

/end