Monday, March 08, 2004
I wake up with an extremely bad sore throat. I fear I’m going to develop a fever later, but I don’t want to say it because that means (1) I have to see a doctor, i.e. spend money again (2) I have to be confined to bed; loss of time in re-writing the overture.
I’m to see Dr Tang today to tighten my braces; the second tightening session. I pop a fever pill from my stomach flu days in December (see the post on December 06, 2003) to bring down my temperature, if it should go up. The NDC has not let down its guard, particularly with the Bird Flu rampant now. It still conducts fever checks and if I’m spotted with fever, chances are the consequences would be quite disastrous. The last thing I wanted was to be sent to SGH or worse, the CDC.
After the dental, my father wants me to help him send a letter to his lawyer. The office is in Shenton Way, which presents a problem of parking. So he just wants to wait in the car while I go upstairs, deliver the letter and come down, without the hassle of looking for a parking lot and then walking to the building itself. Parking is not cheap in the CBD.
The office is located on the 23rd floor of this building called The Octagon, along Cecil Street. It is raining extremely heavy – yes, cats and dogs, to date back to primary school days – and even my big, blue Bugis Junction nearly fails to shelter this fever-sick guy. I enter the lobby, tell the guard my business and am allowed to wait for the lift.
I had the opportunity of riding the fireman’s lift. It was quite frightening, really, because the lift was really old (think of those in Specialists’ Shopping Centre, where the buttons protrude from the panel). I couldn’t find the “Door Closing” button; there was only a “Door Open” button; everybody who rode it seemed to press the button showing the floor number they were going to in order to get the doors to shut. There were two strangely-labelled buttons I didn’t dare to touch: I think they were the manual controls for the ascent and descent of the lift. My mind raced back to the Channel U serial “Invisible Journey” where the office lift, for some reason or another, always got stuck. I certainly don’t wish for such a situation to happen. That’s why I like bubble lifts. The glass panels give you a sense of security that, hey, there are people out there. I can see them; they can see me.
Finally I arrived on the 23rd floor. I dropped the letter at the receptionist’s, and I left. Fortunately I got to take one of the normal elevators. Drat, but it stopped on every floor on the way down, because it was lunch time. The journey was incredibly slow, as if it would never end. Eventually, we made it to the ground floor.
My father dropped me off at the MITA building. I wanted to collect the application form and brochure (if any) for the Shell-NAC scholarship. To my dismay I could only apply after National Service. Thanks, Mr Goh Keng Swee. That’s how I can remember him.
The rain was too heavy for me to walk to Raffles Place MRT Station, so I had to take a train from Clarke Quay and transfer at Outram Park. At the interchange stop I decided to pay a visit to the Police Cantonment Complex and help the Chancellor, who was stuck on Tekong, check out the Singapore Police Force scholarship. I was directed to the ground floor “Central Police Headquarters” office. I obtained a queue number and waited.
One of the front-desk officers saw me and asked, “Yes?”
“I’d like to check out the Police Scholarship and if possible, get the application form.” I tried to sound like I wasn’t there about to steal his job away, for he must think that I was the applicant who would then vie for a career with the police department.
I expected a prompt handing over of a brochure and paper, as the staff at MITA had done. Instead, the officer switched into a puzzling mode and had to go around asking his colleagues: “Where is the blue hard-cover book? I need to find the telephone number for the Recruitment Office”.
So much for the government service.
After a futile search by about three officers, all gave up, and the first officer tore a small slip of rough paper and scribbled a telephone number on it. “You call them and ask them for more information.”
End of inquiry.
I thought it rather unceremonious that they would serve people like that. It didn’t even look professional for me to believe that this was a world-class police force. If they couldn’t be trusted with service, how could they with maintaining crime and security?
Damn terok.
* * *
I had a throbbing headache when I arrive at home. I went straight to bed and lied to my father that I was tired out from the day’s activity. I just asked him to bring back dinner from my grandma’s when he went over there.
I slept until nearly nine, when my mother woke me up and asks if I would like dinner. I finally admitted to her that I didn’t feel well. She took my temperature and it turned out to be a whopping 38.9 degrees Celsius! I wondered why I hadn’t gone brain-dead yet. High fever could make a person go crazy.
I popped a Panadol and went back to bed. I wondered how I slept fitfully this night. In the past, whenever I had fever, attempts to sleep would culminate into a terrible experience. ¶ 3/08/2004 02:24:00 pm
I’m to see Dr Tang today to tighten my braces; the second tightening session. I pop a fever pill from my stomach flu days in December (see the post on December 06, 2003) to bring down my temperature, if it should go up. The NDC has not let down its guard, particularly with the Bird Flu rampant now. It still conducts fever checks and if I’m spotted with fever, chances are the consequences would be quite disastrous. The last thing I wanted was to be sent to SGH or worse, the CDC.
After the dental, my father wants me to help him send a letter to his lawyer. The office is in Shenton Way, which presents a problem of parking. So he just wants to wait in the car while I go upstairs, deliver the letter and come down, without the hassle of looking for a parking lot and then walking to the building itself. Parking is not cheap in the CBD.
The office is located on the 23rd floor of this building called The Octagon, along Cecil Street. It is raining extremely heavy – yes, cats and dogs, to date back to primary school days – and even my big, blue Bugis Junction nearly fails to shelter this fever-sick guy. I enter the lobby, tell the guard my business and am allowed to wait for the lift.
I had the opportunity of riding the fireman’s lift. It was quite frightening, really, because the lift was really old (think of those in Specialists’ Shopping Centre, where the buttons protrude from the panel). I couldn’t find the “Door Closing” button; there was only a “Door Open” button; everybody who rode it seemed to press the button showing the floor number they were going to in order to get the doors to shut. There were two strangely-labelled buttons I didn’t dare to touch: I think they were the manual controls for the ascent and descent of the lift. My mind raced back to the Channel U serial “Invisible Journey” where the office lift, for some reason or another, always got stuck. I certainly don’t wish for such a situation to happen. That’s why I like bubble lifts. The glass panels give you a sense of security that, hey, there are people out there. I can see them; they can see me.
Finally I arrived on the 23rd floor. I dropped the letter at the receptionist’s, and I left. Fortunately I got to take one of the normal elevators. Drat, but it stopped on every floor on the way down, because it was lunch time. The journey was incredibly slow, as if it would never end. Eventually, we made it to the ground floor.
My father dropped me off at the MITA building. I wanted to collect the application form and brochure (if any) for the Shell-NAC scholarship. To my dismay I could only apply after National Service. Thanks, Mr Goh Keng Swee. That’s how I can remember him.
The rain was too heavy for me to walk to Raffles Place MRT Station, so I had to take a train from Clarke Quay and transfer at Outram Park. At the interchange stop I decided to pay a visit to the Police Cantonment Complex and help the Chancellor, who was stuck on Tekong, check out the Singapore Police Force scholarship. I was directed to the ground floor “Central Police Headquarters” office. I obtained a queue number and waited.
One of the front-desk officers saw me and asked, “Yes?”
“I’d like to check out the Police Scholarship and if possible, get the application form.” I tried to sound like I wasn’t there about to steal his job away, for he must think that I was the applicant who would then vie for a career with the police department.
I expected a prompt handing over of a brochure and paper, as the staff at MITA had done. Instead, the officer switched into a puzzling mode and had to go around asking his colleagues: “Where is the blue hard-cover book? I need to find the telephone number for the Recruitment Office”.
So much for the government service.
After a futile search by about three officers, all gave up, and the first officer tore a small slip of rough paper and scribbled a telephone number on it. “You call them and ask them for more information.”
End of inquiry.
I thought it rather unceremonious that they would serve people like that. It didn’t even look professional for me to believe that this was a world-class police force. If they couldn’t be trusted with service, how could they with maintaining crime and security?
Damn terok.
* * *
I had a throbbing headache when I arrive at home. I went straight to bed and lied to my father that I was tired out from the day’s activity. I just asked him to bring back dinner from my grandma’s when he went over there.
I slept until nearly nine, when my mother woke me up and asks if I would like dinner. I finally admitted to her that I didn’t feel well. She took my temperature and it turned out to be a whopping 38.9 degrees Celsius! I wondered why I hadn’t gone brain-dead yet. High fever could make a person go crazy.
I popped a Panadol and went back to bed. I wondered how I slept fitfully this night. In the past, whenever I had fever, attempts to sleep would culminate into a terrible experience. ¶ 3/08/2004 02:24:00 pm
