A strange number calls

A strange number calls, and I walk out to take it. Outside, it all looks very pretty, the definitive Singapore skyline, and Boat Quay alongside the Singapore River, an ugly brown, but that will soon change when the Marina Barrage is built. I muster a polite voice, and I hear it echo back on the phone. Very disconcerting to hear what you really sound like. Not so to the other person, who begins with pleasantries, telling me that he got my number from y.

Y tells me that you’re a kind, ___ person.

I’ll give it to him, because I like to think that I am a kind person.

Would you be interested in meeting up for some wealth management ____.

I begin filtering out whatever else he says. He wants my money. That’s ok. We all want money. In my weaker moments, I might admit to myself that I want money. But I hate wasting time, worse, wasting time with people who want my money. But I have self control. I am still pleasant. Like that consultant with heels dangling off that classy, backless, high chair, she’s fitted, proper and happy.

I am not interested in meeting up.

He brushes rejection aside as surely as I do not. I wonder how much rejection he has had to take as he goes droning on. He probably has something to teach me, but it doesn’t matter, because I will never hear from him or see him after this phone call.

That is a common response from most people before I meet up with them. A meeting might change your mind.

No it will not. I start to lose it. I’ll show you kind. I’ll show you ____.

I am not interested in meeting up. In fact, I cannot believe that y gave you my number.

Now it’s personal, like he puts money before y and would rather piss on all her friends before he stops when she has none of the kind ones left. He starts to retreat. Please don’t bear a grudge. In fact this is common practice. A few more words uttered in apology, and he says goodbye.

I start to feel guilty, because I’m supposed to be a kind person, liquid sunshine, =D.


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