Something Non-China

I finally found the Erdinger boxed set that I'd been craving for a couple of weeks. It's four bottles of Erdinger beer - two light, one dark, and one special Oktoberfest brew - packaged together with a spiffy tall Erdinger glass.

Why did I crave this boxed set?

1. Erdinger is my favorite beer after all.
2. I wanted to try the Oktoberfest brew.
3. I'd owned two of these glasses in the States, but didn't have room to bring them back and gave them to Zach.
4. Jingli had been taunting me the last few days with tales of lovingly drinking out of and cleaning his glass, and damned if I was going to take it lying down.

I found the box in - of all places - my neighborhood Giant supermarket. They were sold out everywhere in town, but I guess people in the heartlands don't go for pricey imported German brews. There was an entire shelf full of them.

Anyhow, on my way back home, a maid with a child in tow got into the elevator with me. As the doors were closing, she noticed my heavy load (two boxed sets) and asked, "Which floor, uncle?"

Uncle? Uncle?!

In the local context, "uncle" is a term of endearment, or general reference to middle-aged men mostly. Middle-aged men. Not me. Not a young man in his twenties with a streak of dyed hair and a bling-bling earring.

Now, I've been called "uncle" before. Some parents have prodded the ugly fruits of their loins to gurgle "uncle" while in my presence, usually while riding in elevators, in a pathetic attempt to make conversation. I generally tolerate it, because I could, theoretically, be these kids' uncle, at least in age. It doesn't stop me from wanting to grab them from their parents' arms and smash their little skulls in-between the elevator doors though.

But those were kids. And this was a maid who couldn't have been more than a couple of years younger than me. In fact, going by the lines on her face, she could've been older. And here she was, calling me "uncle".

I managed to get past the rising bile in my throat and muttered my floor number. After the elevator rose a couple of floors, I couldn't hold back anymore.

"Did you call me 'uncle' just now? Because you can't be very much younger than me."

She apologized profusely, of course. Her silly employers must've ingrained it into her. Both the uncle-calling and apologizing. I actually felt bad. But not too bad.

After all, she had called me "uncle".

In happier news, my favorite musical Rent is coming to Singapore again! This time with Hong Kong star Karen Mok in the cast. I don't know how good she's gonna be, but I'm definitely catching this. Great rock music, decent story, hot costumes, what more can you ask for?

Anyone interested? C'mon, I promise it's good.