5 things NOT to do in Malaysia

As you read this post, keep this thought in mind…

A mandatory capital punishment in Malaysia, which is a sentence of public death by hanging, applies to murder, drug trafficking, treason, and waging war against Yang di-Pertuan Agong (the King). For minor offenses another torture is implemented, consisting of a public beating with a rattan or cane, causing permanent scaring of the buttocks.

It was dark, I awoke to shuffling leather shoes on hard concrete. It wasn’t always shuffling — sometimes the click-clack of a prostitute’s stiletto, rummaging of a rat in a rubbish bin across the gap, or just the sound shadows make, would leave me restless. Either way, I would continuously shake off the disturbances with a few quick squeezes of my knife and drift back into dreamworlds in the dark alley.

Mark found me asleep on the street the following morning and with a soft shake said, “We have a room for tonight.”

I showered, rinsed Kuala Lumpur’s street filth off my body, and scrubbed back-in the middle class white boy. Mark was asleep on the bed, so I ventured off to see some of the Malaysian sights. (Like those twin buildings from that movie with Catherine Zeta Jones, where she does all those sexy maneuvers to dodge laser beams, while an aging Sean Connery watches from across the room and drools.)

Looking dumb-faced into a map, a local woman came over and asked if I needed any help. Most locals that speak a bit of English, love using it and will most likely ask you the same questions. (Where are you from?, How long have you been here?, etc.) It turns out, her sister is going on an exchange program to San Diego in a few months. So, after asking me loads of questions relating to California she finally says,

“My family is all home for new year. It will be good if you talk with my sister. I don’t know what she need to know and I bet she have many question about California. Can you go with me and meet my sister?”

#1 – DON’T GET INTO CARS WITH STRANGERS

So, I got into her car… which was parked down the road at a convenience store, and we headed for her uncles house in the suburbs about 15 minutes away from town. Her niece answered the door submissively, asked if I wanted anything to drink, shown me to the living room, and introduced me to the uncle. The three of them exchanged a few words in Malay. Then, I was informed the sister left for some kind of work errand at the hospital and would be back shortly. The two girls disappeared to gab in the kitchen, and I started a conversation with the uncle.

We talked for about 30 minutes before he eventually said what his job was… He was the head dealer in a local casino’s VIP room, but he also arranges games for clients on the side. For instance, just this morning he helped some clients set up a game of gambling Mahjong, which he then makes tips from the winnings. He said he made 500 dollars in tips this morning, because his client won quite a lot of money. After telling me what happens differently in a VIP room, verses commercial tables, with different games, (poker, blackjack, etc.) He asks.”Would you like to know some tips for blackjack?” I agreed and promised not to tell anybody his tips.

Thinking the tips would deal with more strategic betting for certain cards and percentages of outcomes, I was sorrily mistaken. It was his way of cheating so his clients were almost guaranteed to win. In the middle of the uncle’s teaching, he received a call from a client wanting to set up a game of Mahjong at the casino. He told the client to come over to his house first, because they have a guest from visiting from california and he would like him to meet me.

The silked shirted client walked in with briefcase in hand. We talked for a bit about his job dealing with diamonds…

Then the uncle asked, “Would you two like to play a few quick games of blackjack, before we leave for the casino.”

“Lets play mahjong!” said the client.

“I don’t know how to play mahjong,” said I.

“How about blackjack?” questioned the uncle, with a wink.

“Ok, just a few games,” said the client reluctantly.

#2 – DON’T GAMBLE.

I shuffled the cards, the client split. During the uncle’s dealing of the cards I questioned the him about the differences between commercial games of blackjack and the VIP version we were going to play, to show the client that I wasn’t previously trained in this game. The uncle gave me a signal showing he was going to help me win, after all he did loan me the 200 dollars to be in the game.

#3 – DON’T GAMBLE WITH MONEY YOU DON’T HAVE… EVEN IF CHEATING.

After quite a few sweaty hands I was up to a winnings of about of 5,000 dollars. The client signaled that this would be the last hand so he could go play mahjong. Everybody agreed. The cards were delt… since the client was bunker this round, I could see his top card, a King. He didn’t call blackjack according to the rules, therefore his bottom card couldn’t have been an Ace, the most had was 20. In my hand was jack and five… but with the help of uncle, I knew the next card dealt to me, a six, putting me at 21. I asked for another card and bet modestly.

The client pulled out his black briefcase, banging it loudly on the table, and flipped the metal latches. He pulled out a three inch bound stack of hundred dollar bills…

“I bet 50,000!” he exclaimed.

Having never seen that much money in real life, I thought… this can’t really happening, doesn’t this sort of thing only happen in movies. Sweat started dripping off my already moist forehead.

#4 – DON’T BET OUTSIDE YOUR LIMITS

Sure I’m in… then accused him of bluffing. He asked if I was good for my money.

I lied, “Yep, It will pretty much max my entire bank account but I can cover it.”

“I want to see your money. You’ve seen mine, it’s right there. Where is yours?”

Here comes trouble… I looked to the uncle for help, he asked to speak with me outside, to set up some sort of arrangement. After looking at my cards outside, he exclaimed that we won. The uncle knew I didn’t have any money and he said it would take a few days for him to arrange the funds. We would have to postpone the game a “few hours”, so I could go to a bank.

We all placed our cards in envelopes and into a safe, along with his money. The key was given to the client and he left for the casino until we called him to come back in.

#5 – DON’T HANG AROUND AFTER SCREWING SOME HIGH ROLLER OUT OF $50,000
(I’m going to actually follow this rule)

“So what… like you switch the cards later, huh?” I alluded to the uncle.

“What do you mean Mr. Brad?”

“Is there even a sister?”

“Yes… is there not trust here? Beacause if there isn’t trust and respect we can’t continue.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“I’ll call her.”

A Malaysian girl answered the phone. I asked her where in California she was exchanging to, she heavily hesitated and kept saying she must go to work. Then, finally spouted Santa Clara, or Santa Barbara or San Jose… “OK thank you,” I said. “See you later.”

“OK… hey, I believe you… sorry… I just get freaked out worrying about so much money… plus I just met you… you know?”

“Since there isn’t trust I am going to cancel the game,” he said. “I think that would be best for everybody. We’ll just say you had to go and don’t have time to get the money. My client will understand, so all I will be out is my 200 dollars which he will give back.”

“Yes, that is probably best.”

On the drive home the sister kept saying how sorry she was, because her sister didn’t show up and we all could meet later. Without hesitation on my part, we arranged to meet the next day for breakfast at 9:00 AM at a neutral territory of KFC across from the bus station.

After being dropped off near the bus station, I ran through it, for fear of being followed to my hostel. I woke Mark, told him the story and seriously considered changing my appearance. (Almost shaved my beard) Fearing for my life we purchased bus tickets for 9:00 AM the next day. We left Malaysia after 32 hours, it would have been 12 hours earlier but our room had air-conditioning so we decided to spend the night.

I will never know what lay in wait for me at that KFC… but it wouldn’t have been pleasant.

February 18th, 2008

Our Valentine

A week ago both Mark and I had our hearts broken, torn in two, ripped out and spat upon. We weren’t quite sure how to “break” the news to you. So, we decided to wait until Valentines Day, a day of hope, love, and understanding, to reveal the reason we feel betrayed. We got dumped and stood up by our date. Not just any date… but a long term committed boyfriend.

Yes, thats right! Nick “big heartbreaking chicken” Ostini is not joining us on this trip. He backed out at the last possible minute — Canceled his tickets — Left us and gave up on the hope of true love.

Just so you all know, this isn’t the first time Nick has gotten cold feet on the doorstep of a valentine… During a past V-Day, Nick and I had an elaborate plan to slip a secret admirer ninja turtle valentine, filled with semi erotic stalker observation writing, upon a certain professors desk during class. My job was to run interference so Nick could slip the gag valentine upon his desk. Masterfully, I had the professor so distracted, he was spun completely around. Nick could now freely do his part; walking up slowly, valentine in his outstretched hand… all he had to do was let it go… but he jerked back at the last possible moment and didn’t drop the card.

I should have used history as an indicator and it could have warned me that, Nick Ostini can’t be trusted on Valentines Day. But the worst part about his deceit, lack of commitment, and breaking our hearts is… he used the oldest line in the break-up book…

Hey, don’t worry Nick, we know its you and not us!

Some good news: I have a huge backlog of story’s and dreams to reveal. Plus, I know a few of you were expecting a different post — the one about why Mark and I had to flee the entire country of Malaysia — but it is coming next, promise. This next post will most likely cause my mother to go completely gray, and my Ninna (grandmother) to go bald. Don’t worry you two… were safe now.

A few last words to Nick… happy Valentines Day and we’ll miss you.

February 14th, 2008

Moby Dick

(If your confused – SEE PREVIOUS POST)

Call me Ishmael. Some days ago, never mind how long precisely, having little or no money in my purse, and nothing to interest me, I thought I would hang out at a bungalow by the sea. I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my arm, and started for the isle of Ko-Tao. As if being delivered for this watery world by two vestal virgins, masquerading as mermaids with alternating fishy bits – girl bit on the top, fishy bit on the bottom, and visa versa – landed me in my own summer with my own spoils.

The old wooden shack welcomed me, wrapping its deteriorated fixtures about, like a moldy blanket. Across the dirt stream, between bungalows, sat two lads on a rickety porch, with beers in hand. The taller of the two had a face as smooth as my great aunt Gertrude’s gum line, and eyes cold as the salty antarctic breeze in October whiskers, but at the same time wild as a catholic schoolgirls grip. The other was short in stature, but not stocky, more like a bendable metal wire. His face was covered in fine threads, like sea urchins lit up by a red Singapore sunset, yet there was a sort of indefinite, half-attained, unimaginable sublimity about that fairly froze you to it, till you involuntarily took an oath to find out what this marvelous beard felt like.

Shamed for skipping the inaudible lip reading course in Nantucket, the lads would murmurer as a ship tossed on rough open waters, occasionally jotting down scribbles on a white square pad of parchment. If I be a pearl in the worlds oyster, and pearls have many mates and know no strangers; I went to greet the barnacles on the deck.

“The bastard took something form me that I will never have back,” said the short one.”Not my sleep, not just my food… something much greater. It toys with my mind like a yo-yo… The monstrous beast has bitten off and swallowed some of my pride, and for that we must capture it alive!”

“Thats quite the task you know?” questioned the taller. “These animals are quite hard to catch, and even harder to contain without escape.”

“I don’t know how we will do it, but we must! I want to stare in the eyes of my assaulter before I kill it.”

“But what would be the scientific purpose of killing it?”

“REVENGE!”

I found out later the two lads had sailed across many seas and countries to arrive here from their home port in California. The taller of the two’s name would be Mark, with a mind like a hair triggered musket. The other would be Abrad, with his thoughts twisted like a black sea in a midnight gale. Together they had devised a contraption Davey Jones would have envied: A mechanism comprised of twigs and sticks carefully carved down to a precise size, with a stark white bucket floating like a ghost in the warm night air, and bait borrowed from a very old happy quaker. It was a rat trap. Comprised and devised with a hell-bit intention, madly set for revenge.

(photos of the trap will be posted soon)

The first night the great leviathan rose up from the cracks, forcefully springing the trap, pushed the weightless canister to the side, and feasted upon his bounty. To correct the mistakes of the first night, the lads added mounds of weight to hold the foot long beast in its place. Dawn of the second morning Abrad awoke, gazed upon the endlessly empty collapsed bucket, and a twitch developed in his eye.

“He squeezed through the crack, Impossible! No more games! I was too gentle with my good manners. If you want something with a devils black soul, one must empty the cavern where a heart once resided. We will turn the bucket over, to squish and bloody the bastard!”

And so they did, flipping the bucket and pounding twenty-five nails into the hull of the rats coffin, and filled the bucket of doom with eight pounds of murky fresh water, not fitting for any human to drink. Abrad stared upon his twisted contraption and smiled with a smile so sinisterly, only a wicked demon could comprehend its meaning. The only thing louder than the approaching booms of a thunderstorm was the sound of Abrads maniacal laughter, tearing out every cry but his. Not a soul slept soundly in the complex that night, incuding myself, because thoughts of the anticipated bloodbath and screams roamed through our minds; everybody was awake but Abrad, who was fast asleep, calm as a sail in a dead wind.

Ugly and monstrous the beast was, and come soon to find out, wickedly wise to boot. The leviathan carefully, ate the surrounding trail of food and cleverly missed the bag of bait, attached to the mechanism, that would deliver its final death blow. The following morning, there was no blood and the only screams were those of Abrad’s, when he flicked the perfectly working contraption with a stick, sending the harpooned hammer crushing down. My friends, there is a wisdom that is woe; but there is also woe that is madness. Night after night the rat would somehow avoid the snare, tormenting Abrad’s twisted soul, dragging him deeper into the dark sea of insanity. As Abrad departed the bungalow, he looked back with hate and anger in his eyes, vowing to return with the tide, another day, and seize his revenge.

February 1st, 2008