The Faux Identity Story..
Sometimes a re-visitation to the past does absolute wonders in prying us away from certain mores that we’ve subjugated ourselves to. Read as, addiction to trance, alcohol and strict no pickup rules. Like you’ll believe me if I said that..
It’s amazing what boredom drives men and how it gears the creativity of others to actually formulate ( and re-evaluate ) pick up techniques. I’d be perfectly honest, I’m no MacGuiver when it comes to picking people up. We play to our strengths and mine is to shut up.
Disclaimer: No timeline on this. I’ve had to hold this story back.
TheCaptain had a plan. The execution of which was only for a select attendance of two. I cringed at the impending re-introduction of HipHop back into my aural cavities. It’s a dichotomy for me, Tiesto and Timberlake should never co-exist, but a call of duty to take up the role of a wingman is one I’ve hardly given a pass on.
As soon as I got there, the chilling nostalgia from those regular visits a couple years back and knocking back those $3 shots crept in, followed by my last night there that ended in the police station. I shivered, took a piss then went on to find TheCaptain.
Immediately after entry, we got held up by some stupid ass bitch in line cos she brought out a miniaturized scanned copy of her I/C. Avid fan of the debit mini? Possibly. Liable for handcuffs and coffee sessions at the police station? Definitely.
I pulled TheCaptain back.
Me: “Don’t follow too close. Let them walk up first. We don’t want people thinking we came with them.”
Midway from their ascend up the stairs, TheCaptain pushes me forward.
TheCaptain: “Walk faster, we don’t want people thinking we came with those two behind.”
I turned to see two possible runaway Filipino maids who probably took the wrong turn for Lucky Plaza.
TheCaptain: “The plan tonight is, we’re both overseas students back here after a long time…”
And yes, the game had been set. The rules ambiguously drawn for me but my only job was to stick to the role-play and never break ranks. The plan as TheCaptain explained to me was almost and I stress, ALMOST flawless. The hunting ground, the day of execution and the storylines were not simply accidental co-incidences like winning the jackpot or passing exams, but intricately weaved blueprints. One of which I was interested to see it through.
This was easy. We ran through our selected backgrounds with one another to prevent professional slip ups. I was to be from Australia and TheCaptain was a graduate from Michigan.
Then we took the game to the floor…
TheCaptain eased into a warm-up with a couple by the bar table. Throwing in suspicious accents and compulsory lines to legitimize our pseudo identities. I did my part in looking lost in the appreciation of the club.
Exchange of handshakes between TheCaptain and the guy and I knew there was going to be serious game tonight. Now the problem lay with finding the right targets, or acceptable ones for that matter.
A quick market survey. No ‘’Advertisers’ on the platform. No ‘Auctioners’ by the bar and we’ll be refraining from ‘hard selling’ tonight since no one there was even worth me even dropping my name card over.
TheCaptian quickly found us some prime property. A long stretch of table in front of the which had several groups of girls occupying. TheCaptain gave me a nudge, the universal signal of “check them out” and I knew he was going for it.
From casual sips from the bottle, TheCaptain was quick to move in. Two girls, average looking, young , hardly the nubile nymphs we’d have loved, but for tonight we’re not sizing up the bustlines nor looking for mannequins.
Next thing I know, we’re introducing ourselves in faux accents and playing out our ‘ignorance’ on the essential clubbing hotspots in Singapore. Just to keep up the antics, I threw in several questions to re-validate my overseas student persona.
Me: “How’s Liquid Room?”
Girl: “It’s closed…”
Me: “No shit!”
Me: “What happened to Mohd Sultan? Where did everyone go?”
I had to refrain from throwing in "Sparks" and "Fire" into the fray of has been clubs.
TheCaptain was already giving them a shortcourse introduction of 4 yrs of life at Michigan with such fluidity that he only needed to sing the national anthem backwards to be a bona fide American.
Then the spotlight fell to me..
Girl: “So which University did you study in?”
It took me straight up the ass, full of surprise like syphilis on a Sunday morning. My face mangled with a frown and my mouth still forming an O. A dozen schools ran by my head and I said the first thing that came to my mind..
Me: “I didn’t study there. I was working there..”
Girl: “Oh? What were you working as?”
And that felt like a second jab in my ass. This girl just keeps me speechless. I half considered smashing the jug at her head and making a break from the door but an eternity later, I replied,
Girl: “Oh.. for which magazine?”
Conversations never felt more uncomfortable and lying never made this difficult.
Me: “Just publications.. “
TheCaptain pulls me to the side.
TC: “Hey sorry ah, forgot to tell you to plan ahead.”
Me: “No shit..”
Shortly, the girls were asking us if we wanted to join them at MoS. We made a quick evaluation. Leaving with them would mean making a commitment for the night or staying behind and start afresh.
I was keen on either. The whole conjured persona thing was getting to me and I ran a list of who I wanted to play next to TheCaptain.
Me: “I wanna be a pilot next!”
TC: “Don’t break game!”
Me: “How ‘bout a divorcee with kids?”
TC: “Stick to the overseas student story…you are going to get us exposed.”
We eventually left with them and I had to spend the next 15mins biting my hand to stop myself from giggling in the taxi.
TheCaptain: “Oh so where’s MoS?”
Girl: “Very nearby.”
TC: “Oh.. is it big? Is it fun?”
Girl2: “Ya it’s very big.”
TC: “Really? I’ve been hearing a lot about it. Never had a chance to go.”
And while TheCaptain continued he’s awe of everything from the proximity of the two clubs to the sheer size of MoS, I continued giggling over the whole charades. All I needed now was a dancing teletubbie to pop up from the backseat to die laughing.
Me: “This is fucking ridiculous. I’m not paying to get in.”
TC: “Don’t break game.. just pay and go it.”
TC: “I want the younger one.”
Me: “Whatever..Then I’ll take the curly hair…”
At first I had to distract Curly hair who was throwing some major cock-blocking moves on TheCaptain, till he got pissed and told me to get my act together. That was before I started paying attention to her rather than the chicks by the bar. And once I made the sacrifice to wing for TheCaptain, Curly quickly forgot about mother-henning and pre-occupied herself with periodically stroking my face.
Everything went on flawlessly. The accents went on. The random ‘this is a nice place’ continued. And I even got her to take me on the mandatory sight seeing round the place. Things fell into place too quickly and effortlessly. This was like beating the para-lympians at the 100m dash.
One hour in, TheCaptain complained about the lack of a challenge. We could have told them we were construction workers at Desker Road and we’d still have scored with them in the sack, but the rules and novelty was only within the campus of the pseudo identity and the ensuing pick up.
The Captain shoots me the ‘I’m bored look’ in between their dirty dancing routines, which I also read as, the “we should have picked hotter chicks” look. Curly was already giving me abrasions from fellating me through the jeans and I was fast tiring from flashing random smiles to mask my absolute boredom with them.
It also certainly didn’t help that while I was enunciating my words under the guise of a slang and vodka, she was saying things like “acerli” (actually) and “eskew me” (excuse me).
Curly: “Am I going back with you?”
Me: “Not tonight..”
I turned to TheCaptain…
Me: “I’m fucking coming as a divorcee with 2 kids the next time. Overseas students are boring..”