1:31 pm: I’ve got 11 hours to kill in the Singapore airport before my flight to Paris. About 3 minutes in I realize I’ve got to take a squelching dump. Lets the great race begin!
1:33 pm: I try to pinpoint the source of my stomach ailment; perhaps cannon-balling that jumbo pack of M&M’s wasn’t the best idea.
1:34 pm: It was far from the best idea.
1:37 pm: I see two guys coming out of the men’s room, shaking their heads in disgust, this should be good.
1:38 pm: As I walk in, a man spits in the urinal then (with great gusto) proceeds to whip out his dick; this ladies and gentlemen, is a classy individual.
1:38 pm: My thought process of how its illegal to spit on the street in Singapore but socially acceptable to spit to your hearts content in a urinal is interrupted by a guy cutting me line for the last available stall; what did he think I was doing, just hanging out in the men’s room? Too be fair, that’s exactly what I was doing.
1:39 pm: I publicly chastise the man with a curt “ I was clearly going in there.” The guy is shocked, and almost hurt by my tone. He backs up and apologizes; victory, the world is mine.
1:40 pm: I walk into the stall, its effin filthy. I walk out in hopes of finding a better bathroom. I see the two guys from before walking into another rest room, this could be promising.
1:53 pm: I walk in; it is clearly the Rolls Royce of handicapped bathrooms. I park my luggage cart outside the stall and go to town. I consider dumping with door wide open so that I can keep an eye on my stuff. I eventually reject this idea and chalk it up as a “societal” thing.
1:57 pm: I almost positive I can hear kids rifling through my luggage. I contemplate yelling for help.
2:00 pm: As I’m washing my hands; the security guard beside me spends a good 5 minutes carefully sculpting his gelled hair. I’m not sure who’s he planning on meeting in the airport but good lord does he have something special planned. I am instantly nervous.
2:12 pm: I’m remarkably relaxed considering I have a bag filled with 2 months worth of American cash. Its people like me who are usually the best to beat up for their money.
2:14 pm: I give a casual onlooker my best “don’t jump me look.” They look away. Mission accomplished.
2:26 pm: I peruse the aisles in Watson’s in sheer boredom. I wonder how long it will take them to kick me out. I see a new line of men’s products called “Gatsby.” If only F.Scott Fitzgerald was alive to see this; his finest creation used to hock hair gel and face cream. Maybe they’ll name a brand of “for her” condoms “Mona Lisa’s Choice.”
2:28 pm: I see a pencil thin 40ish-Singaporean man reading a guide to 6 pack abs; mothers, lock up your daughters.
2:30 pm: I decide to see what’s new in the condom aisle; it doesn’t take long before people start to wonder why I’m just standing there ogling the KY; I try to gracefully retreat and almost take out the entire shelf of Dong tea with my luggage cart. Still single.
3:01 pm: I walk by the display case of securities prohibited items; there is a hand axe, nun-chucks and a set of brass knuckles that they refer to as “knuckle dusters.” I don’t know who they confiscated these from, but they were clearly planning one hell of a party.
3:14 pm: They’re wearing Santa hats at pizza hut; nothing says Merry Christmas like pizza in the Singapore airport. This does not depress me in the slightest.
3:23 pm: I desperately need a place to sit down. I spot an urban chique café with nice couches. Jack pot. I order a $7 latte, this better be good.
3:28 pm: $7 later, it is not good.
3:29 pm: I see this over-priced latte as a tax for all but squatting in their classy establishment for the next 9 hours. I paid, I sit. A deals a deal. Plus I don’t see a sign anywhere about “no vagrant” policy. Home free.
3:31 pm: I drink my latte way too quick; it was supposed to last me a good 7 hours. I silently curse my hydration system.
3:36 pm: I saddle up with my Mac book for some quality wifi, I’ve got 3.3 hours worth of battery life. I plan on milking every last second of it. Step it up Steve Jobs, step it up.
3:48 pm: I silently wonder why no one is on facebook or skype, I then realize it is 3:48 am in Canada. I stuff my wonders in a sack.
3:53 pm: I flip through Facebook news posts. My friend’s profile pictures are of their weddings or significant others. I have a picture of Kanye West with the words “I’m a nice guy” scribbled beside his shit eating grin. Telling.
4:53 pm: 1 full hour later and plenty of juice left in the Mac, suck it B. Gates. SUCK IT.
4:55 pm: I consider taking a bath in the bathroom sink. Birds do it.
4:58: The Asian family beside me has their picture taken with their cups of coffee; there’s one for the scrapbook.
4:59 pm: If I were an outsider reading this I would think that the writer is a bit of dick. At the current moment I have no problem with that.
5:01 pm: I catch someone in line reading this over my shoulder as I type. All things being equal, she wouldn’t be wrong to judge me.
5:31 pm: I decline a friendship request on facebook. It is oddly satisfying.
5:34 pm: I read this blog from top to bottom; the only part I erase is regarding a roofy joke. I proudly stick to my guns on my new found “no-roofy-joke” policy. Remind me to tell you the story regarding the “roofy joke incident.”
5:58 pm: An attractive blond comes in to order a latte; I give her a look that’s screams “all I do is party” and do my best direct her gaze to my crotch. She shoots a look back that says “my boyfriend is in the bathroom and is going to stomp your crotch into the Stone Age.”
6:36 pm: Cute: two small Asian kids doing a choreographed dance with their umbrellas
6:37 pm: Less Cute: Realizing that they are pretending to shoot the white tourists.
7:02 pm: I see an attractive indie-chick in Tina Fey glasses and a Bart Simpson t-shirt. I can’t help but think of us having awkward nerd sex while yelling “Cowabunga.”
7:43 pm: Because I’ve over-packed I have to stuff a collection of my meager possessions into the pockets of my cargo shorts. Electric tooth brush, photo album, 3 AC adapters?, several (several!) books, its all fair games. I have to wear my headphones around my neck even though I’m not listening to music. If someone were to describe my look in one word I’m convinced it would be “douche.”
7:56 pm: I waddle through security. My pockets look like over stuffed chip-monk cheeks.
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