To take the day off or not, that was the question I asked myself. Mind you, making such decisions requires planning. So I sent in my leave form and said to my boss, “Gimme the day off or I’ll tell the rest that you enjoy watching…the stock market when you’re actually supposed to be doing work! Muahaha!”
Actually, I didn’t, but you get the idea.
The match was at 2.30 (Holy cow!!!) a.m. therefore it was imperative that I meet my friend at the not-so-trendy area of Sri Hartamas much earlier to get ourselves seats and most importantly, a good parking spot because neither of us wanted to pay to park our cars when we could just park at the side of the road, free of charge but with a much higher chance of being robbed. Yes, we’re stingy buggers. The agreed place to meet was called Souled Out, a rather clever play on words if I may say so. The atmosphere was, to put it mildly, f-2-da-c-king choking. Cigarette smoke enveloped the entire top floor where I found my friend who had managed to secure a small but strategic spot. There were numerous times where I was actually gasping for fresh air, but because this was the match of the year, I was bolted to my chair—and every second thereafter was torturous. (See what men are willing to endure for their passion.) Heck, I reckon a few of my nose hairs are singed from trying to block out the despicable smoke from entering my already poor lungs. But it was well worth it; my favourite team won but not before the opposition and a certain Ronaldo gave me the frights (there was more than one fright!) of my life. Fortunately, my constitution was up to the mark otherwise I would’ve passed out like a little girl at a Miley Cyrus concert. (Damn, I really don’t like that girl.)
On my way back home, I reminisced about my time watching the match. It was absolute fun and to watch it with a fellow (he’s a bit a more hardcore than I am) supporter of the best football club on the planet, Manchester United, was even better. But I just couldn’t shake off the feeling of how people could do this late night sojourns, week after week. I’m a fairly fit guy, but I was knackered after eating my third slice of pizza.
It got me thinking, do these kids (and dire wannabes) know what they’re doing to their bodies, and ultimately, their future as old cretins? Smoking and drinking from start to finish without so much as a pause. They laughed, cheered and jeered with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. And that’s just for starters. I see them doing it with not a care for the world. It makes me sad that it’s these same people that will either suffer a disease or two or, heaven forbid, end up being healthier than I am. Which would suck tremendous amounts of orange juice. (I’m trying to cut down on my swearing, hence the euphemisms.)
I guess I’m too much of a prude when it comes to these things. My colleagues (not you!) find it very odd that I can sleep early, get up early and read a book. On a weekend. My friends know me too well to call me up for any sojourn that involves the words Clubbing and Alcohol. I will reiterate this again: I do not mind participating, provided it’s not every week and that there is a very valid reason as to why I have to fork out a lot of money where it could be put to better use. Like, for instance, buying rice.
Getting up at 1 a.m. to watch a football match takes a lot out of me. Literally. My wallet’s kind of thin now. I think I need sleep. Winnie the Pooh bolster, here I come!
This is Chris, signing off.
PS: It’s almost June! Time flies fast when you’re underpaid, overworked, and generally bored with watching American Idol.