FEBRUARY 4 — Shouting “M*****f*****” as I rolled gracelessly out of a car was not how I wanted to make an entrance.
Especially at a wake.
My oldest friend’s father died and so I decided to go to the wake, which was held in a place that was on an incline, and when I got out of the Grab car I was somewhat disoriented.
Thus I tumbled out the door, revealing to everyone present just how big a potty mouth I have.
I lay there on my side in pain and mortification but was helped up by very nice people.
Why was this so familiar? Oh yes I also had a bad fall last year, also had a bunch of very nice people coming to my aid, but I sadly have not yet learned to roll like a stunt person instead of a toddler having a tantrum.
Still, I did wish I could sink right into the ground, never to be seen again until everyone who could recall the incident had made their own ways to heaven.
Pride comes before a fall as the saying goes.
As I sat mulling this column, the thought came that for me, shame was a luxury I could not afford and dignity is not a gift I have been given.
In summary I am but a shameless clown in the scheme of things.
At the hospital I made my nurse laugh when I pulled my IV pole along sideways as though it was a mic stand.
A sense of humour is probably necessary right now because I am again limping along, struggling with my bags though I carried less than five kilos with me, bruised with a myriad of cuts on my hands, knees and elbows.
Even coming back from my quick not-for-leisure trip was a farcical end to the long weekend; I’d booked an airport cab thinking that paying a little extra would get me home quicker.
Instead I got into the car to have this irritable gentleman start nagging me for not giving my address at the booking counter (I’d asked if they needed it and the woman waved me off, saying I could just tell the driver directly).
He ranted on and on about how my failure to do so would make it hard for him and sitting there, exhausted, as my flight was delayed due to a seat malfunction, I told him that I didn’t have to put up with this and marched right back to the counter.
The ride company said no worries, we’ll get you another car.
Sadly that was not the end of it.
I go out and the ranty driver is now making a scene, arguing with various members of staff and of course, my new ride is yet to arrive.
It all made me unhappy and uncomfortable having to wait out there for another car while this dude was raging just a metre across from me.
While I do agree in a way that all this could have been avoided if the woman at the counter had just taken my address it was still an awkward and ridiculous situaion.
Regretably I ended up making a scene of my own.
It took five minutes of some anguished ranting and my declaring that if they won’t refund me I’ll consider my money lost but I would still be filing a complaint (somewhere).
I got my money back and took a much cheaper Grab (with an amiable driver) home.
It’s 2026, you would think that in Visit Malaysia Year things would be a lot smoother at our main airport.
Imagine if it was a tourist in my shoes — being lectured by an airport cab driver for something that wasn’t their fault.
Even getting a Grab is a bit of a confusing affair.
Grab cars aren’t allowed on Level 3 of KLIA, which meant I had to go down two escalators to go to Level One,
At KK International Airport, Grab cars also have to pick up passengers at the furthest door away from arrivals.
My legs are a long way from being recovered so I can imagine the trek would be even more tiring for someone with bigger physical challenges.
I will probably be spending most of February recuperating from the fall and trying to strengthen this still-weak body.
In two weeks I will also have my final immunotherapy session and my veins will get a nice long rest from being poked and prodded.
The moral of the story, I suppose, is to make sure you always have plasters and a little antiseptic ointment with you because you never know when life decides you need a life-affirming tumble.
* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.
