The Double Date

How on earth did you end up here, Mike? I whispered over the back of Mike's seat.

The truth is, Mike didn't know how he ended up there. But he did know how he didn't end up someplace else.

If Mike hadn't failed the entrance exam, he'd be an MAS pilot by now. Flying across the globe, banging air stewardesses in his free time.

If Little Mikey's cousin hadn't pulled him out from under the parked train before it started moving, he would be wheelchair bound today. Probably a social activitst of some sort. 

If Papa and Mama Stone had decided not to succumb to an arranged marriage, right now you'd be reading some other idiot's blog. Probably one with more pictures.

But I know how Mike ended up there.

It started one Saturday afternoon during Mike's first year in university. He was in the hostel cafeteria, sipping cendol by himself and watching a 1980s Hindi movie on TV2. If you know Mike as well as I do, you'd know that he isn't particularly fond of cendol. And he practically hates Hindi movies, let alone retro Hindi movies. But being a freshie, there's only so much you do in campus on a weekend.

Then came an all-too-familiar clap on the shoulder. Mike turned to see a long haired figure towering over him. He would have been a little less anxious if it happened to be a pontianak. Unfortunately, it was his final year senior Sureish. 

"Macha, my favourite junior!" Sureish squeezed hard the back of Mike's neck. Semi-paralyzed by the grip, cendol oozed from the corner of Mike's mouth.

"Senior..." he gurgled. 

"Wat you doing, da?" he took a seat next to Mike. "Watching Hindi movie all? Come with me tonight. Pirates of the Caribbean. "

Mike raised an eyebrow.

"Tickets, you don't worry. This one on me." Sureish seemed to have the habit of speaking in four-word sentences. "Sareke also I provide."

If someone says they're taking you out to a movie, paying for your ticket, and bringing a date for you, you'd be sceptical. But this wasn't just someone. This was Sureish - the same guy who once tried to get Mike raped by a female weightlifter.

Mike wanted to say verygraciousofyoubutnothanks, but Sureish still had a firm claw hold on the back of his neck. In front of them, Mithun Chakraborthy and his backup dancers grooved, singing "I am a disco dancer..." 

"Ok." Mike squeaked.

*    *    *     *     *

Mike knew his night had reached the edge of the cliff when he saw the pair of girls they were picking up from the oil palm estate outside their campus.

Sanjana was a plain looking Indian girl, nearly as tall as Sureish. She had endearing bunny-like front teeth and pimply cheks. Her most defining features, however, are the ones a guy would buy FHM magazine to oogle at.

Lalitha was Sanjana's 4 foot cousin who looked like Shrek... No, not Princess Fiona... Shrek. With an afro. No surprise who Mike's date was.

But growing up, Mama Stone had drilled it into Little Mikey's cranium that it's important to be a gentleman at all times. Treat every girl like a lady, she'd say. Besides, Mike was optimistic that Lalitha would have a nice personality. Somewhere beneath her flabby neck and pot belly.

*    *    *     *     *

In the cinema, the cousins sat next to each other, bookended by each of their dates.

Lalitha was already pretty peeved at the heavy flirting and cuddling going on between Sureish and her cousin. Lalitha couldn't even hold on to Mike's hand for more than ten seconds before it wriggled away and she would have to try again five minutes later.

As the movie started, Mike hoped the combined feminine good looks of Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom would be able to keep his date occupied, at least for the next two hours.

"Too bad this is an English movie," Lalitha cooed, hugging Mike's arm. "If Tamil movie, we can whistle and shout and make a ruckus." She giggled.

That was also when Mike first noticed how hairy her cheeks were. 

Two seats away, a full-on make out session was in progress. Sureish was already getting his money's worth for the tickets. Lalitha casually leaned her bushy head on Mike's right shoulder.

It was only a matter of time, Mike feared. He turned to the row behind him and mouthed the word "HELP!"... I shrugged. What exactly did he expect me to do?

With puppy dog eyes and pursed lips, Lalitha looked up to face Mike.

If there was ever a time Mike wished he hadn't been born, this was it.

The Shooting Range

The average government issue M16 assault rifle weighs 3.5 kilos and is 1000mm long. 

For how long do you think you could hold one of those vertically on the top of your head? Mike could tell you this: after the first half hour, it's just a matter of which would give out first - your arms or your consciousness.

By his third year, Senior Midshipman Mike Stone was one of the top two M16 riflemen in his university. The funny thing is, the person who taught Mike to be a better marksman was not his Gunnery Instructor. It was an Indian taxi driver at Puduraya - who happened to be a former army sniper. But that's a different story.

Mike remembers clearly his squad's first trip to the outdoor shooting range. Most of them couldn't even see the target 200 meters away, much less load and fire their weapon. At the end of that afternoon, the 5 cadets with the lowest scores were lined up front for everyone else to see, in order from worst to worstest.

Needless to say, Cadet Mike was part of that notorious lineup. However, he wasn't the biggest cock-up that day . That honour went to Cadet Shazni Hafizi.

The officer on duty was Sub Lieutenant Radzi Abdul Razak - six feet of tanned muscle and sadistic hatred of cadets. He lowered his cigarette from his black lips and stared down the Fab Five, one by one. He ordered them down onto the push-up position.

This isn't going to be pleasant, Mike thought, dropping to his palms and toes.

"Kadet!... Korang tahu tak 'askar' tu apa?!" Radzi began his monologue. Yup, this was gonna take a while. "Aku Seksa... Kerana Aku Rela!"

He proceded to remind the Fab Five that all that they had accomplished that day was waste the navy's supply of bullets. Noone dared to respond. The afternoon sun was equally merciless.

"Engkau, kadet!" he nudged Fizi with his boot. "Berapa markah kau dapat?"

"4 per 100, tuan!" Fizi called out, his chin two inches away from the grass beneath him. Droplets of sweat tickled his face as they rolled over his eyelids and sunken cheeks.

"Empat?!" Radzi wasn't pleased. "Tu skill tahap BERUANG kau tahu tak?!"

"Kalau aku tangkap beruang kat hutan nu..." he pointed across the rolling hills. "Aku pakaikan dia uniform navy... Aku bagi dia M16 sebijik... Sama je markah dia!"

Despite his mounting anxiety, in his mind Mike pictured Papa Bear lying on his belly on the ground, snout pressed against the butt of a rifle. Squinting over the barrel, his fat furry paw hugging the trigger. Waiting... Eat my porridge, will you, Goldilocks?

Mike felt a laugh rising from the pit of his stomach. With every ounce of willpower, he tried to stifle it. He couldn't. 

Radzi's face turned sour the moment he heard faint chuckling interrupt his serious speech, but he immediately regained his composure. All the other cadets cringed at what was going to happen next. 

Radzi smiled menacingly.

"Oh, kau suka ye, kadet?" he mocked. 

He went to pick up one of the M16s lined up by the truck. 

"Woi! Sini kau, macha!" he called. Leaping back onto his feet, Mike immediately began to regret his own sense of humour.

45 minutes later, the only person chuckling was Radzi. Mike's consciousness had given out before his arms did.