I was about to cross the road. I didn’t know which way to look until I saw the sign ‘look left’ painted on the crossing.
I had to think for a second or two which was my right and which was left. I gave a command to my brain – ‘left’ – and one of my arms lifted. I looked that way.
I said a silent thank you to the person who first thought of writing these signs on the road. They had probably saved my life. Coming from a country where people drive on the right hand side – as well as being navigationally challenged – I had completely lost track of which way to look when crossing roads.
On that warm sunny day, I decided to walk around town looking at this and that. I ended up watching cars on the road.
I saw how polite motorists are. When they see a car trying to get out of a side street or a parking space, the cars on the main road tend to stop and let them in. In Yangon, if you’re trying to get onto a main road, you have to push in so that your bonnet blocks other cars from being able to proceed. Or you stick your hand out and put your index finger up to say ‘one here, let me in.’ You’ll be ignored for a while until you meet one of the rarer breed of drivers who actually think outside their cars. Otherwise, if you’re waiting patiently to be told ‘after you’ without trying to push your head in, you’ll be there until everyone’s gone to bed.
Here in the heart of Chesterfield, motorists are so considerate of others that everyone often waits around at roundabouts for ages without anyone making a move. They all dither at the edge of the roundabout and say ‘after you’ — ‘no, after you’. But the problem is that cars don’t actually speak English, so they don’t quite know who said ‘after you’ first. After a second or two, they realize that nobody is moving and all set off at the same time, narrowly missing crashing into each other.
I think roundabouts are put there to tax drivers’ brains and test their manners. It stops them having too much safety and becoming too contented. A little sense of danger makes driving a lot more exciting. That’s why traffic planners have installed roundabouts everywhere instead of boring traffic lights. How dull would it be at every junction if you were sure whether it was your turn to go or not. Besides, what would car insurance companies do if there weren’t roundabouts?
After walking around aimlessly and marvelling at these mini roundabouts for a while, I was ready for something to eat. My adopted dad had invited me to join him and his friend for lunch at a local Wetherspoon pub. So, I sauntered along to look for it. After taking several wrong turns, I ended up in a pub signposted ‘Wetherspoon’. I went in and looked for the two men who were supposed to be there already. Instead my attention was immediately captured by the sight of a man in a short skirt and tights ordering a drink at the bar. In Chesterfield?? I looked more closely. He was wearing heavy makeup with very red lipstick and high stiletto heels. I wondered how he managed to balance his muscular thighs atop those pointy heels. After establishing the fact that he wasn’t my adopted dad disguised to play a trick on me, I stood at one of the high tables near the door so that my dad would see me as soon as he came in. After about five minutes of pretending not to be looking at the man in the skirt, I heard my phone ring. It turned out that I was in the wrong Wetherspoon. Until then, I hadn’t realized we’d got two of these pubs in the town centre.
After taking a few more wrong turns, I found the right place. Being Saturday, the pub was crowded. It took me some time to locate my dad and his friend. I finally found them sitting with a stranger who was talking at them. It turned out that they were just sharing the table with the man as there wasn’t anywhere else to sit. I joined them and sat next to my dad’s friend.
The stranger looked at me and said ‘Hello.’ With a glass of beer in front of him, he seemed to be delighted that one more person had come along for him to talk at.
I quickly decided what I wanted to eat: fish and chips. My dad and his friend got up to go and order the food and drinks, leaving me making small talk with the man.
After a bit of chitchat, it became apparent that he thought I was the wife of my dad’s friend who would soon be enjoying his eightieth birthday. I searched for any signs that might have made him come to that conclusion. I didn’t find any.
Come to think of it, I was once mistaken for a doll that looked uncannily like a living breathing human. A workman once saw me lounging about my dad’s house. He later took my dad aside and asked him where he could also get a girl like me. He obviously thought my dad bought me from abroad just to watch me daintily shuffle about the kitchen in my sexy fluffy teddy bear slippers, scoffing everything that moved. I wonder if my dad recommended Ebay. The postage would have cost him a fortune though. In fact, I have heard a couple of times where people bought girls from certain parts of the world to be their brides. I didn’t realize our world was so advanced in technology that people could make lifelike dolls and sell them to order. I am totally in awe of our human race’s creativity.
After being mistaken for a living breathing doll, I wasn’t at all surprised to be seen as the wife of a man who would be the same age as my grandad.
My ego wasn’t too pleased though. So, I said to my ego, ‘Didn’t Einstein once say “reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one”? They are all illusions. It’s just that his illusions and mine aren’t in the same pub’. I patted my bruised ego trying to get her to see the funny side of it.
After eating my fish and chips, I left the two old men in the pub with the strange man still drinking and making awkward conversation.
I walked around the town as there was a bustling market going on that day. I saw people using the crossings at an unworried pace and cars actually stopping to let these people cross. I hesitated to make sure that the cars that were hurtling down the road would actually let me cross. After years of living in a city where zebra crossings don’t mean anything for motorists, I was always careful.
My ego had now come out of her sulk and once again we were happily betting on which car was going to go first on the small roundabout. I wonder which one Einstein would have bet on …