APRIL 6 — Early Sunday mornings... hardly cue social observations. Yet, at times, lessons are not thousands of miles away, but instead at the starting point, your home airport.
I ambled zombie-like through the stages — after ill-advisedly choosing to movie-marathon the red-eye flight — reaching KLIA’s taxi booking counter. It looked straightforward, but it ended up not so. Because in my naiveté — and drowsiness — I chose to queue.
This was far from a government office on a bad day with the lines snake-stretching to the parking lot. In fact, there was no crowd. It should have been painless. Did I say, I blame my choice?
Adopting — the illusion of — civility, I waited behind several people already there between me and the counters, therefore by convention designating them ahead of me in the queue. This is when it went south.
While they were being served, more travellers emerged from customs and without skipping a heartbeat thronged past me and “joined” the space between me and the counters. In plain terms, they were now also ahead of me.
As I tried to deep stare the back of their heads and beam shame-rays to the bowels of their consciences, I kept getting distracted by more heads sliding in and rotating out with payment slips for their taxis.
I am used to being ignored, but this was getting ridiculous.
This is when the lesson begins, since a man was behind me for some time. The Caucasian male, tapped me, and as I turned, he revealed to me an unparalleled truth:
“This is Malaysia, mate. You have to be ruthless.”
TIM, my friend, TIM. That’s what Martin Sullivan always said to me when we shared a flat. How easily I forget.
I did get my ride, though I asked myself thereafter, is it ruthlessness which offers salvation or were there other reasons for the collapse of civilisation at the arrival hall of Malaysia’s fanciest airport?
Instead of tirades, I want to mind-meld with my fellow Malaysian and explain the debacle.
After all, we are a nation of apologists. We just don’t queue up to present them.
No one was told
This must be the sanest explanation. Raised in a father-knows-best culture where initiative-taking is shunned, perhaps my brethren were only a proper shout away from heeding the call of reason.
True, in school we had to queue-up, but as a routine. A well-rehearsed routine enforced by authoritative shouting. None was about that morning.
My countrymen can shout, you should see them demanding orderliness from foreign workers marching quietly with heads bowed to their transport vehicles experiencing first-hand Malaysian hospitality.
So, see, easy to explain. There was no queue-up signboard. Same reason why dutiful citizens don’t use indicator lights when changing lanes on our roads — if only the government invests in signs every hundred metres.
Leadership is not universal
As we are reminded often, leadership comes from drinking leadership fluid. The fluid is only served in leaders’ homes. That’s where leaders come from.
Bluebloods, those with leadership blood coursing through their veins thanks to proper fluid intake, unfortunately are never cursed enough to have to queue.
Only the non-leadership class queue up, which explains the silliness and also underscores the need for blueblood leaders.
Queues only prove one thing, without bluebloods, pleasantries will be replaced by peasantries.
Freedom, freedom!
It’s a false diagnosis of our people’s organic defiance.
Queues represent oppression. Stand here, wait for your turn, join this orderly conveyor belt. Nicht, nahee, oh tidak!
Malaysians will not endure the system. We have HBO. We’ve seen V for Vendetta.
Take away our civil liberties, curtail our mobility, export our jobs to the region, devalue our public education system to curry political favours, neuter comprehensive healthcare and force our daughters to their marry rapist perpetrators that’s OK. We’d say, yes sir, yes sir, three bags full.
But get us to queue, and we’d revolt.
They didn’t know
“Oh sorry, I thought you were just slacking about with your suitcases in the arrival lounge on a Sunday. How was I to know?”
Well that explains everything.
I could have been a member of the janitorial staff or one of those guys assigned to walk around and gather your trolleys because you can’t be arsed to return them once you are done with them.
Point is, just because I am dressed up with bags on tow near the taxi counter, it does not necessarily mean I actually need a cab.
We don’t sell organised
Perhaps it is a well-veiled message from the cab operators. We’ve been shoddy all these years, that’s why the majority prefer hail-ride services like Grab and Uber, why change a solid business plan?
So too, Malaysian Airports. KLIA has been under-utilised for two decades, and facilities fading into disuse, therefore why ruin the consistency?
Does it matter?
I have recovered from the trip, and staring at the wall at 3am, is it disastrous to mention this?
Would I be hanged, drawn and quartered for raising such a hullabaloo over queues?
Seriously, are queues truly the mark of human decency? In preferring them, in being intuitively moved to queues rather than a mad grab for your meal at a soup kitchen or a ticketing counter?
Are these wobbles just minor creases since we have a world-standard architecture airport which requires a post-grad researcher to explain all its superior design qualities?
Are naysayers like me, just picking at the edges of what is a profoundly better society, which is supported by our propaganda machines?
I suppose society answers it, by questioning itself. I welcome my society, examining queues, or the lack of them, in our midst. If that happens, I’d be happy to stand at the back of the queue, and let my countrymen do the talking.
* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.
