Top 10 F&B Customer Antics that Piss me the Fuck off

Welcome to what may quickly turn into an obscenely long rant on human beings in general.

Since no one knows and I never really got to updating anyone on what I’m doing, I’m a waitress now. Yes, yes, laugh all you want. The one service sector job I tried my hardest to avoid I am now stuck in.

People don’t really understand why waitressing sucks especially for me.

Let’s start off with the fact that I hate pretty much everyone I meet at first glance.

My manager always tells me hate is a really strong word and that I should use words like ‘not fond of’ or ‘not inclined to’ but I don’t think the ideas my internal monologue put into my brain falls within the intended spectrum of fondness most of the time, especially so when I run into a service demanding human being.

But through my misanthropy, I do pride myself to be more patient and tolerant than most. Basically my threshold for bullshit is pretty damn high, though most of the time I smile at my customers because their stupidity amuses me or simply because I can’t burst out laughing in their face.

‘Bahahahaha, bitch I’m laughing at you not with you but thanks for the tip anyway, the 65cents will take me a really long way.’

Another point. I have a high tendency on fucking up orders.

Mainly because um, if something isn’t fatal, I really don’t care. You want to special order a burger cut in half during a hectic dinner service while we are under-staffed? Sir, I’m setting your table with a fork and knife, please have some initiative. Also, your 10% service charge doesn’t go very far, it just stops us from spitting in your food.

I mean, I get the deal with nut and other high risk allergies but by God, have you seen the vegans that don’t even eat root vegatables? Here I am running a full house dinner service and you’re over there all ‘Um, is there anything on this menu with no root vegetables in it?’ What do I look like to you? A preschool teacher? Get out before I artichoke you to death, mdm.

F&B service stresses me the fuck out.

Having to constantly remember items that aren’t on the menu anymore and repeating myself at least twenty times a day for long periods of time can get so dull and boring, it almost pains me, not that an office job would be any better, but hey.

Not to mention the fact that I’m extremely sensitive to people’s auras and mood changes. Hungry people aren’t people you like to have first hand contact with especially in a restaurant where food is expected to take long. I have people bitching me out because certain items aren’t in/on the menu or because they’re impatient sons a bitches who don’t know minutes from quarter hours.

Needless to say, my day is ruined almost all the time. I don’t get a good day ever since a good day would mean a quiet day, directly relating to shit sales. You can’t have your cake and eat it too, or for my case, I don’t get any cake. Unless we’re throwing it away before of its expiry/freshness date.

Anyway, I’ve been working this sickening job for a solid 2months, full shift after full shift, and I can safely say these are the few things that will piss any F&B restaurant runner out there.

Deep breaths and here we go:

1. Don’t randomly change your seats.
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If you want to change your seat, ask first. You’re in a themed restaurant not an actual old school coffeeshop, no need to get so much into character.

What you are doing to us is fucking up our table seatings. That means your food is going to take longer because we can’t fucking find you at your fucking table. You think we remember your face? You’re damn right we’re gonna remember your fuck face after you screw us over.

2. Don’t move the bloody furniture.
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What kind of dingbat excuse is ‘I don’t like this chair it’s not comfortable can I change it’ and ‘this chair is a little low/makes me lean too far back’? Have you no respect for matching antique sets you uncultured scum of the earth?

NO you may NOT change your fucking chair to get to the sofa because one, that was a shit excuse and you really need to try harder and two, I still see you leaning all the way back so UNLESS YOU TELL ME YOU’RE GOING TO EAT YOU PORKCHOP OFF YOUR CHEST THEN NO, YOU DON’T GET TO CHANGE YOUR FUCKING CHAIRS.

And you wanna know what? I happen to like that chair so fuck you.

3. No outside food means no outside food.

It’s not like we don’t make an effort to caution you dipshits about these things. The courteous thing to do would be to call in advance on whether we do our own cakes. You can even ask if you can keep your own cake at the bar in advance and we can keep it for you if we allow you to bring outside cakes in in the first place. Surprise cake? Sure, we’re all for the happy customer. All you have to do is to pick up your phone and dail us. Seriously, I don’t know what so hard about that. Don’t want to talk to us directly? Drop us an email because I get it, I don’t want to talk to you either.

There are so many fucking ways you can go about with cakes but no. Some table of idiots out there will always, always try to bend the rules thinking it makes them look like big fucks. Yeah, a gigantic fuckwit, that’s what.

‘I don’t care, no one is looking. Just do it.’
HI SIR, DO I LOOK LIKE A NIKE STORE TO YOU SIR? NO? WELL THEN GO BACK TO YOUR TABLE AND CHILL YOUR PREPUBERCENT CHEST HAIRS DOWN YOU SICKLY LOOKING THING.

4. Water isn’t always a given.
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This is probably one of the things that ticks me off the most because somehow it’s always my fault when I forget it.

But I can’t help it because I run so many tables and I’m always rushing to set tables, serve food and what not. The worst tables are the tables that have a combination of warm and cold waters because suddenly my dinner service morphs into this nightmarish mash up of memory work and diner dash. One way I help myself is by serving bottles of warm water to tables with old people. So if you get warm water from me when you asked for chilled, sorry but I think you need to work on your skin alittle bit.

Seriously though, in the end we do have a drinks menu and if you really think that none of the drinks suit you then I get it. What pisses me off the most are the disgusting cheapo ones that just have to double confirm if something is free or not.

‘It says water is FOC here. Is it really?’
If you want it to mean Full of Crap then of course sir, as long as it only applies to you.

5. Don’t ask us for bills and orders when our hands are clearly full.

Unless you want me to throw something at you.

6. Wait to be seated.

I cannot stress enough that we are a restaurant and that in all restaurants it is only respectful to the staff and customers to wait to be seated.

How to tell if an outlet is a restaurant or fast food chain? Table numbers. If you see a table waiting for food with table tags then it’s free seating. If you see a reserved tag anywhere in the store it’s a restaurant which means no free seating. Or you could just ask the counter, you know? Like what any normal, common sense wielding human being should know how to do. I don’t know why I have these expectations. I am let down every. single. time.

If you don’t get these simple dining ethics then maybe you really need to observe and educate yourself.

And if you find yourself in a situation where you took too much initiative in doing my job for me, then take a seat and wait. Because chances are that I didn’t seat you simply because I had no time to, be it due to the fact that I have food to serve, orders to take and a queue of people to sit down. Chances are, your table is dirty as well so you might want to think twice about plonking you brand new iPhone 6s on my ikea bought and hastily put together dining table.

Don’t demand the menu and service from me because if I don’t greet you, you don’t exist to me.

7. Don’t ask for fan and air-conditioning to be turn down or off.
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On certain occasions, I may entertain such antics, especially for older people because I think their skin is thinner and they have less… blubber. But if you are a young adult fresh out of national service or what not, then jolly well deal with it. By God, we live in Singapore for fuck’s sake, you’d expect people to retain some of the heat we get here.

Other times I find this request fucking annoying because I’m running tables and I’m warm as fuck, the restaurant is filling up and everyone is warming the space up like fucking global warming and there that lady is in a shawl, sipping hot water I probably scalded my hand pouring for her and she demands I turn the fan off because she is so obviously freezing to death like the titanic is going down.

Or rather, it’s her boyfriend/husband/whatever that decides it’s his duty to keep his woman’s baby oven nice and toasty and projecting his omega-male authority by asking me to turn the fan off.

Um, what’s that sound in the distance? Sounds like the crack of a whip. Oh sorry, it was just your sorry status of man. *eyeroll*

8. Don’t ask for things that aren’t even on the menu.
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I’ve come across customers who are vegan and I almost-sorta understand the pains of being one since I barely lasted a month on my last fast. I know I’ve said bad stuff about them at the beginning of the post but in truth, most of them are nice and understanding, and only want certain things to be excluded from their meals because they ‘understand that not everyone eats like them(us)’.

The irritating customers are the ones who are just plain fussy about their food. From the cut of chicken in their burger to the rareness of their pork…? No shit, I almost agreed to serving a pork chop medium rare just to watch the guy gag and hopefully fall fatally ill. Hey, if natural selection can’t do anything about his glaring lack of intellect, I guess my excellent customer service will have to do. But of course I didn’t do it, so as not to get my manager fired.

9. Don’t snap your fingers at me.

Like I already said, your 10% isn’t getting you places so unless you’d like me to snap-snap your neck, I’d opt for a casual wave or nod in my direction. I don’t know about you guys, but the whole gesture of finger snapping to get attention is so elitist and plain rude. Same goes for whistling, I’m not a dog, unless you’re implying that I am one. In which case I will happily maul you to death.

I’m not even asking for a smile or a rare ‘how are you’, I’m asking of you not to call me over like I’m some sort of butler because last I checked, I’m not paid nearly enough to take your bullshit and you aren’t Batman so kindly go fuck yourself, thank you.

10. LISTEN TO ME WHEN I EXPLAIN THE MENU.
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Do I really look like I enjoy wasting my time at your table going through column after column of our specials?

Actually I guess to a certain extent I do because it’s fun messing with people like that.

But that’s besides the point.

Because nothing royally pisses me off more than customers asking me for food I already said is unavailable.

Yeah, thanks for wasting my fucking time, time I so painfully had to spend on dipshits like you, giving a fuck about what you could possibly want for your pregnant wife who isn’t allowed to have anything with ginger or wolfberry or spice or ice or half the things food on the menu here ALREADY HAS.

*inhales*

Good job sir, I feel bad for you because you wife would probably hate you before you guys make it to the delivery room.

*Sigh*

In the end, it doesn’t change the fact that I love being around food and cleaning things, which is why I figured I’d be good for barista posts and other behind-the-counter jobs in the first place. Nevertheless, waitressing has opened my eyes to a whole new spectrum of how horrible the human race can be, as well as how thoughtful some are. I’ve had customers who’ve given me personal tips even though I felt I didn’t go out of my way for them, and customers who are totally chill about having to wait a little longer because the kitchen is swarmed or because I’d simply forgotten to key an order in. #sorrymanager

These are the people who keep me in the service line, though they are rare to come across, it’s nice knowing that they exist and I’d go through another ten tables of whiny little bitches if it means running into just one of them.

Pushing sales and hitting targets has also turned into this weird self-fulfillment thing that takes my mind off other… pressing matters such as my deteriorating mental health and what not, so I guess that in a way my current job is a good thing…? Physically and mentally demanding but ultimately good.

I’ve also met the nicest people here, one being my manager, who takes the best care of my chronically suicidal self but somehow can’t do so for himself. Life really needs to cut the dude a break, like seriously.

And as much as I’d like to ramble on about how great my new found friends are, I’ll have to end the post here because I’m getting up at 8am tomorrow later today for another full shift and God knows that even though I function on almost no sleep, I still wouldn’t make it though the day on emergency energy, A.K.A caffeine stacked on ibuprofen taken twice over.

So Goodnight, WordPress.
Sleep tight and

I bet you thought this line was going to rhyme somehow but

Medicine Maketh Me

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^My sentiments exactly and

Emotions are such an absolute load of bull.

Really sorry about not updating for so long. I have pictures uploaded in drafts to write about but haven’t been feeling too up for it.

Trust me, I’m as pissed off about my catastrophic mood swings as you (or anyone who actually bothers to read what I write) are.

It all started one fine Chinese New Year, que a gif of me screaming ‘NEW YEAR, NEW ME, RIGHT?’ right here.
Well I also forgot to factor in new pain.

If you asked my best buds to describe me in a few words it would probably be happy, mortally depressed and too curious for her own good. I would say coffee but then I could also say…

Weed.

Um.

Moving on, in a span of just one month I had managed to feel again (something I’m not sure if I should laugh or cry about) and then proceeded to emotional die.

A few times.
And how I wish I actually stayed dead.

The logic as to how and why I did that to myself? I’m almost too embarrassed to say so. In fact, I’m so ashamed that I hope future me forgets we even had this blunder.

But I doubt she would. It’s probably going to come back to haunt her when she’s still sad and alone in bed a few years down the road.
I can picture it now. Quiet night, maybe 3am when she opens her eyes and go ‘Oh my God, why’.

So I’ll just come out and say it. I liked someone. I say ‘like’ in past tense because I’m not quite sure if anything is going to happen relationship wise or if grammer Nazis from the future would hunt me down when I somehow become famous for something I hope I can live down.

Is liking someone supposed to be this torturous? Because by God, the feeling sucks and I’ve been trying to get rid of or at least live with it for the last month  without admitting that my current situation looks everything like unrequited lo-

Oh my God, I can’t say it. Next point please.

How I managed to emotionally die (a few times):

1. Drinking
Of course that would be one of the first things I tried. It’s so cliché all over the internet that you would at least think it would work for a few people, right?

Well it doesn’t. All I was left with was an empty wallet and migraines that lead to my discovery of Panadol Extras. Something I forsee becoming very… important to me.

Either way, I crossed beer and alcohol off the list really quick. There’s only social drinking for me.

2. Working.
Also known an ‘attempting to work myself to death’, ‘drowning myself in work’, etc.
NOT to be confused with when I tried my banking job. That was such blatant stupidity in itself, I hope I never have to go through it again.

Just for the month of March, I’d worked weeks without a day’s rest or sustantial social life so much, it was starting to stress me out. Which wouldn’t be too horrible if I’d been able to use this stress to override the feelings of *cough* liking someone *cough*.

But no, it stays on like a stain in my heart and it hurts. I can’t even write poetry to relieve the pain.

I blame the logical side of my brain in this one. If only ‘sensitive and all feels’ Cherie would just get the hell out of the way, we’d have much lesser problems. So stupid.

3. Prozac
Anti-depressants. I finally tried it again in a long time, just to test it out but failed in epic proportions because:

i) I have side effects that can perpetually turn my day/life upsidedown. I’m supposed to be taking them long term before they actually sort of dull down.

ii) I say alot of stupid clingy things when I’m on prozac, refer to point i.

iii) What prozac does is that it makes you really sleepy so that you stop thinking (they lie, btw) and I decided to take it during my first long week of event work. Fucking genius.

iv) Fatigued from Prozac and still working, I got bad migraines so I popped a Panadol Extra. Didn’t turn out well.

v) Don’t try it with coffee.

vi) Or coffee AND panadol extra.

vii) Just coffee and panadol, however…

4) Panadol extra + Coffee (or generally anything with caffeine)
How many Panadols can a normal-pharmacitically-not-immune-to-anything person have before it’s considered an OD?

The answer is 8 but seeing that I’m spamming panadol extras, I’m not too sure of the number anymore. How much more is in a Panadol ‘extra’? An extra half dose? So I guess that puts my limit at 4 to 5 Panadol extras…?

The whole sugar or caffeine thing is just to chase the paracetamol effect in theory, very much like Prozac with alcohol. I’ve been trying to test everything out without mortally endangering my life but it seems to get harder each day especially since I only recently started a 9day long event spree filled with screaming kids and… happy families.

To be honest, I think the whole 4 to 5 panadol limit I imposed on myself is a tad farfetched, since the medication seems to wear off every three hours or so and I’m practically forced to stack pills or crash from the caffeine. Not to mention how the screaming of little children starts making my eye twitch the moment the drug wears thin.

All in all, this experiment caved in on itself almost immediately, although I did give it a few days just in case. On the plus side, it makes me way too tired to think or feel anything, making this method the much cheaper and efficient alternative as compared to Prozac. So it’s something to keep in mind, except it may potentially kill me if I’m not careful -or lose count.

5) Emotional layering
This experiment was entirely based on some warped theory I had whereby ‘if something hurts and you can’t take it, fall back onto something that logically hurt you more from what you can still remember’.

This theory applies to my cutting phase(?) as well, in case anyone is wondering.

Anyway, I utterly refused to cut for anyone but him or my own mental stability so I resorted to the next worst best thing, my past. Ah, the warmth of melodramatic depression I’m so familiar with.

Or so I thought.

It started out fine -even worked for awhile, before I got too utterly dragged into everything that the temptation of messaging him on Facebook almost got me.

What happened next was such absolute fuckery that I am so thankful my BFF called me back when I texted him at two in the morning while he was watching a movie with his girlfriend at home. His girlfriend was also so accepting, God bless her soul. *Sprinkles fairy dust on the pair* Please stay in my life longer, I need people like you around.

THE GOOD NEWS IS, I’m fine now. By fine I mean back to not liking anyone that’s actually physically accessible to me.

That’s right! I’m not sick with feelings anymore! Except I do get the slightest urge to pop a panadol for no reason at all but that’s better than cutting, right? So I’ll count that as a step in the right-ish direction.

THE BAD NEWS IS, I’m still barely half way through the shit-ton of event work I signed myself up for while I was trying point two out. Hell, I’m still neck deep and panadols are pretty much a must at this point.

Also, since I tried everything on my hastily put together list, I’m not sure what did it for me so I guess life from now is still going to be one huge trail and error on top of this listopia I have going on.

Adding to my mountain of issues I have been juggling emotionally, emotional layering kind of screwed me up a little deeper than I expected and now I’m not too sure how I’m going to start liking anyone else again. Not that I’m in a hurry anyway, it’s a good thing.
I’m sort of hoping fate will let me off for at least 6 months before it throws another shit storm at me. I really need to concentrate on my 5 year plan, though I kind of expect many more of these occurrences this year. Much to my dismay and probable misfortune.

Besides the emotional ‘I don’t know what the fuck I just went through’, I guess another downer would be how I would most definitely be haunted by all the things I’d said to him (the guy I liked). I didn’t say alot but I did say a significant amount of things that are so cringe worthy my poor panadol infused brain is too handicapped to scrape around for. Bless it’s grey matter atomic make up, because it tried so hard the past month, and that includes torturing me by having me torture myself.

Oh, and I missed J-Obsession this year because I didn’t plan for it. Dammit.

Alas, my eyes have been once again opened to the real world. I have new things I want to do and a new drive. Life it going to start looking up whether it wants to or not.
If anything, I’ll just panadol that shit.

I’ll end my update here. I hope you were as amused and entertained as I was writing about it and remember kids, stay in school and uh… don’t do drugs.

Serial pill-popper out.
X

Friday is Forever

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Whaaaat’s up guys! Since I have been doing nothing but school (and PSO2) these few days, I’ve decided to write about my times in school because I wanna upload all these overdue pictures. #whatsnew

Also because it’s 1am in the morning and I can’t sleep so… *shrug*

Let’s do this thing.

8am lessons. I have them on Fridays, which automatically make them ‘Thank God I Managed To Wake Up For Class’ instead of ‘Thank God It’s Friday’ because let’s face it, I was probably up till 3am the day before, swearing to myself that I’ll have one additional coffee for every hour I sleep later. The problem with that form of logic is that I have to wake up for my coffee first, so you can imagine my utter regret when my alarm goes off on Friday mornings.
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You must be wondering though, for such a horrible timing for lessons, why such sunny photos?

Well you see, my 8am lessons are design classes, which means I have to be all artsy fartsy and go around taking pictures or drawing stuff. It also means I get to have a MacDees breakfast first if I get there before my teacher.

On occasion, these lessons become surprisingly interesting, like that one time I went up to the roof of my school for the first time ever.

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My Fridays are also rather eventful, and by that I mean me actually going out to somewhere besides home, school and the comic book shop with friends, because I have no life.
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During these outings, I go to malls I haven’t visited in maybe half a year and discover -to my utter glee- that there are new dessert or bakeries opened.

For the above picture, I’d discovered PJ&J CINNAMON BUNS. It is in caps and bolded because it is very important information. Ironically, I have come to forget the name of the shop, only remembering that I bought it at the basement of Bugis Junction.
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A photo that I thought was cute but both my friend and I decided that IT SHOULD NEVER be posted to instagram because someone could just photoshop my face onto some AV girl’s porn flick.

ON THE FLIP SIDE

This is what happens when 8am lessons aren’t as interesting. Judging by how much coffee is on my table, I probably slept at 2am the night before, to wake up at 6am the following morning.

Or a few hours later.
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And of course, a middle finger to the poor studious-looking-but-really-isnt groupmate who sits behind us (fellow groupmate, Mia and I).

But like I’ve said many times over, coffee is magic. So give it a few minutes (like half an hour or something) and BAM.
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Good as new and ready to wreck havoc.



Or just, you know, pay attention in class.

*cough*

As much as I have little need to wake up early for anything, there comes my next earliest class.

THE 10AM CLASS

Basically, the 10am class is a PW class that no one really pays attention to unless there are lab works or assignments. Till this date, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to take away from it and I’m finishing school in less than a month. (Insert shrug) At least I can say that it has been relatively painless.

Pictures below are of our last official lesson together with our teacher, even though I never really realized it was the last lesson till people started getting all sentimental and taking pictures with the lecturer.

For me I just shrugged and thought ‘this could go onto my blog’ and took pictures. It’s not like I had anything better to do then anyway.
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And of course, since it was the last lesson (that I didn’t notice was the last lesson), Mia and I decided to treat ourself to this thing called ‘BlackBall’, which really is this awesome thing that came from Taiwan. When you eat it warm it tastes like holding hands on the beach and when it’s cold it’s like being at a party you can’t can mortally drunk at. Everyone should try it.

Also, thank you Taiwan.

The pictures were a must because my hair looked fierce and Mia’s hijab’s colour was totally rad.
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Random hamster face photo.

On an entirely random note and also because I’m too lazy to write a separate post,

I finally went Hari Raya Visiting this year!
*confetti*

I haven’t been able to go because I never really had any close malay friends, NOT because I have no friends, okay. ):

In fact, I have awesome friends who are total potter heads with enough merch to dress me up for an impromptu casual cosplay.
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Do you think I suit Gryffindor? I always thought I’d be a Ravenclaw. Where’s a sorting hat when you need one???
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Anyway, I went to Mia’s house and ate and ate and ate and ate and ate till I couldn’t anymore because malay food is soooooo gooooooood and home cooked ones are even better because they are infused with family love.

We ate and watched How I Met Your Mother and Friends With Better Lives in Mia’s room, while I then proceeded to spill Fanta grape on my top and a patch on my jeans on two seperate occasions.

On the bright side, I found out that my top was rather waterproof, which kinda awed me, until I saw it start to slowly seep into my clothes, to which I practically snatched the tissue from Mia instead of taking the picture I said I wanted.

I would have taken a picture of it, but I thought of how I would rather have a tumblr-worthy picture and have ants attack me on the bus or something or not have the picture and stone on the bus in peace. Let’s just say I detest anything with more than four legs and I treasure my time spent on long lonely bus rides.

My jeans on the other hand, was totally cool with the fanta grape and soaked it all up so I ended up with a sticky knee when I took off my jeans at the end of the day. It was…really, really unpleasant.

OH AND

I tried this tidbit called Chocolate Almonds and IT WAS THE BOMB I tell you. I would look forward to Hari Raya just for them. #thingsineedtoremembertoeatyearly

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At the end of the day I was really tired and really full. Submission week is coming up next week and it really helped me relive a lot of stress.

Moral of the story: Keep going out with your friends because one day they will HAVE to invite you over and then you can eat awesome food.

Wish me luck for submission week,
Cherie

The day all my friends left me

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And here is an extremely late post by yours truly. As you can see from the pictures, I’m a whole month late so you can’t blame me if I have no idea what to write for this post anymore because I can barely remember what I did yesterday. I’ll see what I can manage.

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The main reason why I’m only writing about this now is because all the pictures were in my friend’s camera and he wasn’t one to upload albums onto Facebook so I had to physically collect the camera from him. That, and we always forgot to remind and bring the camera when we actually met up.

So here are the pictures, finally. In between sudden death runs in Phantasy Star Online 2, I’d decided that the photos were all pretty self explanatory. By that I mean:

Hey look at me. I’m in a graduation gown that may or may not be mine because I may or may not be graduating (in my case, no), taking pictures with anything and everything in my school because it’s the last few official moments that I’ll be here and I’m sentimental and shit.

Of course I wrote the above paragraph because I’m being lazy and unimaginative. This is a lot of pictures to caption after all. Not to mention a tad bit painful to talk about since it’s my friends, who were from the same batch as me, who are graduating. Without me. Alas, I am not bitter as some people may wish me be, because that only means the guys would be shipped off to National Service and the girls would have to find jobs, further theirs studies or be absolute slobs. Honestly, I don’t think I’m missing out on much. Sure, I won’t get to take pictures with my friends, but do you still remember the pictures from my Secondary 4 prom?

Oh right, there weren’t any.
Sorry~

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Either way, I did have a lot of fun at the ceremony, given that it wasn’t mine. The free lunch and dinners I’d shamelessly looted from the buffet was surprisingly good and I managed to save cash for the three days I went down to have my friends rub their certs in my face. Fuck ya’ll, I went home with something after all.

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I would like to caption this picture:

I have a graduation gown and bear. I am better than you.

I kid, the pretty lady hasn’t graduated yet and both of them are really nice to me. Other people… I don’t know.

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I found it rather funny how the owner of the camera only showed up in the above picture. I guess that’s just what happens when you’re too busy graduating and being all important and stuff.

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I ship this couple like crazy. They’re Azfar’s mom and dad and they are THE SWEETEST COUPLE EVER. They totally deserve a fanclub like wow.

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Cheryl, the center of attraction.

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Afterwards, we started taking pictures with both parents, mostly because I didn’t want to risk doing something inappropriate in front of them so the only way I knew how to avoid such circumstances was to include them into the havoc we were wrecking.

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Still stealing food from the buffet well into the evening.

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I’m gonna miss these guys loads too. We met at a camp in Year 1 and started this unofficial club called the Temasek Poly Ghost Hunting Club (TPGHC) because we went around the school in the middle of the night investigating the school’s horror stories. It’s been just the three of us through the years and I can’t believe I’m sending these boys to become men already! Not to mention be their cover dates when their OCS dinner comes around. Ah, the role of being ‘that girl friend’ never ends.

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We stayed till they chased us out of the convention center but not before my two guy friends stole a toilet freshener from a cleaning trolley and started spraying everyone’s asses with it.
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They were found out, of course.
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And the boys scrambled about each other.
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Then we found a lighter.
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And this happened.
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We girls took our photos,
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While the victim of the air freshener turned into the bully.
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And somehow the one with the lighter found the one with the spray can and this happened.
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FUNNY STORY: 

This guy is a lecturer, he just isn’t MY lecturer. He still thinks that he is, up to this day. You see, in my friend’s last semester, I started crashing his Monday lecturers religiously, making him think I really was, even though I must have seemed like a total delinquent, a student of his. I even went for his very last lecture where he gave out tips for their final exam.

Just recently, he waved at me on the concourse and asked me why I haven’t graduated so I told him I was a repeat student (which I was) and that I was taking my remaining modules now making this my last semester. Not exactly a lie I guess.

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And that was pretty much my graduation. I’m saying this because I don’t plan on going to my official one, especially if it’s going to be in the afternoon because pictures would be a torture and there is no way in hell am I wearing such a (literally) hot gown for pictures that are too overexposed. Not to mention I’d probably be working by then and wouldn’t be bothered to pay money to rent/buy a gown, let alone go down for the event at all.

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I’ll leave you with this picture. I like to caption this:

‘They say the only reason why his graduation gown is so big is because it’s full of secrets.’

Graduation is overrated,
Cherie