Sell Backside

Selling Backside
- By TC Lai, 27th July 2019

"Selling backside..." The Singlish phrase echoed in Ah Huat's mind. His NS bunk buddies had mentioned it just before ROD and Ah Huat being Ah Huat, was too embarrassed to say he "catch no ball" - another Singlish phrase oft-used in the citizen's army of Singapore, and so kept quiet.

"Wah lau eh, country in recession, how to find a job outside?" said one.

"Go sell backside lor," said another.

Yet another suggested, "Join Gelab lah. At least can fetch sui chaboh and jio jio. Know where she live some more, and also got phone number. No need so ji cham need wingman's help. Got car, no credit card never mind!"

(Gelab a pirate taxi, kind of a precursor to Grab.)

"Actually can join Gelab and sell backside also," said another, who was a little fay but with an entrepreneur streak. In the bunk, he was the shadow storeman coughing up 1206 items for his buddies at Sungei Road Market prices. How long this treasured "thieves market" would last, no one knew. Those buggers in power and in white would (in the proverbial sense) cut off their nose to spite the face. Or just to prove that they could make tough decisions despite popular objections. Just like what happened to the old National Library. Damn gangster, sia.

"Eh, you know all the dark corners in Singapore meh?" jibed another soon-to-ORD soldier.

"We expert in camouflage mah!" At that all of them rolled on the floor and laughed like siao. The one whose parents were from Hong Kong knocked over his foot powder. His feet did stink.

"What's selling backside?" asked Ah Huat, directing the question at his section mate to his right right. But as usual, because Ah Huat was Ah Huat, they nonchalantly ignored him.

Ah Huat had always been too pure to corrupt, or so they thought. Often, they just let him be. They never offered him a cigarette too nor shared a dirty joke. And came field ration time they gave him all the pineapple jam he could eat as if he was the platoon's tender siao geenah.

So, after ROD, Ah Huat still did not know what "sell backside" meant. He became a victim of the recession and like many, sat at home and watched TV. Maybe the only way out of his predicament was to "sell backisde" as his mates had said. If only he knew what that was.

He thought maybe it had to do with renting out the boot of a car... But he had no car. Maybe it had to do with the back of a garden.... But he did not live on landed property. Ah Huat lived in a HDB flat and up till recently, with his grandma.

His grandma was quite the character and could never really settle into HDB life. She was always saying her kampung house was much better.

"Land so big, neighbours so friendly!" she would lament.

And in anger, "Look at this wash area. So small! I cannot even park my CB there!"

"I had fruit trees and a well! A WELL!"

In fact, Ah Huat surmised that Grandma was Grandma because she could not let flare what that was her "flair".

Back at the kampung, she was well-known for her sharp tongue and flirting ways. Never mind she was already nearing sixty and storing away dentures at night. She would cool herself off in the day - her samfoo still on, by pouring a pail of well water all over herself. Well water being well water, it was cool. Very refreshing! And it also made some things stand out. Folks do not hold wet tee-shirts competition not for no reason.

Grandma had claimed rightly that Singapore was always hot, unlike her beloved China with her lovely seasons. She had married grandpa and then left the north of the Middle Kingdom.

However, overtly, grandma liked to show off her wet samfoo to attract the attention of a guy named Lor Bak Tow who lived some houses away in the kampung. He had a thin moustache and below that, a silver tongue that complimented her always. And in her wet distress, and old nipples showing through, he was helplessly glib. He also always came carrying a duck. It was their "objet d'alibi".

She would stroke the duck's neck and exclaim, "Oh, so long and stiff one." And he would stroke the duck's body and coo, "Body so shapely and soft one."

Anybody seeing this exchange from a distance would think they were haggling over a plump duck.

But it was all a ruse. Lorbaktow's silver tongue was to distract her so he could come from behind the house and steal her chicken eggs. Afterwards he would stuff 'em two eggs in his trouser pocket before nonchalantly greeting grandma. Grandma, busy at the well, did not notice anything amiss, except for the bulge in LBT's pants, which she mistook for his manliness. It encouraged her to stroke the duck even more and ply it with ever more colorful superlatives. The duck would at times not play his part and crap all over LBT.

Over time, LBT got buff from all that protein and proceeded to propose to the pretty (and rich) widow in the next kampung. Afterwards, he led a comfortable life and needn't steal eggs anymore.

Grandma heard the news and became despondent. For a while she stopped greeting people passing by her front porch. She sat and patted her pet pig (every family had one) and muttered "Pig!" under her breath. Pig thought she was complimenting him and nuzzled her harder each time. In this way, Grandma's disgust at LBT slowly dissipated. She decided to celebrate a new beginning and roasted pig. She also bought a new, bright red pail and once more wetted herself by the well. No Roberto came, but the kachang puteh man continued to quietly leave a cone of nuts on her chair by the door. The white sugared ones that Grandma loved.

Ah Huat had observed his grandma's charades since a toddler and often wondered when he would have a taste of that duck (which was never). More to the point (two points actually) he saw his grandma's excited titties and his tummy would growl, mistaking them as a source of nourishment. His own mom worked as a confinement lady and would at times miss feeding him. Sometimes the milk tasted like it belonged to someone else's. The thought that someone else was nourishing at his mom's breast made him wanna throw up his pacifier (which had a nice motif of Doraemon). Ah Huat being Ah Huat did not know that the milk was expressed from a new mom. Some new moms suffered from milk duct blockage (MDB). If one breast was blocked, it was termed "1MDB". If "2MDB", it would be "Bodoh sia. Apa ini... kali kedua? Bodoh! Bodoh!" (We just hope Malaysians are not that dumb, especially those in UMNO!)

So, as toddler Ah Huat grew, his grandma's titties sagged. Till one day, they met at eye level. By then, Ah Huat had been weaned and he lost all interest in all matters lactose. He would rather drink TV's new Meelo or "tak kiew". Ovaltine also nebermind.

(Note: In Asia, many kids weaned from losing their pacifier. This is why many men still hanker for breasts till very old. It is what Freud identified as "holdover addiction" and Jung, ...oh nevermind him. Jung would always be Jung.

Nevertheless, his appreciation of his grandma's titties never waned. Nor other women's. To him, they represented his grandma's good intentions (food/mom substitute) and her lively persona.

So it was that when his grandma laid stiff in her coffin with her tits erect, Ah Huat felt a sense of justification. That's how he had always remembered her. But not after living with a recurring nightmare where his grandma writhed in pain (ecstasy, actually) and the head that rose from her chest was none other than that egg-stealing LBT, his face in a leer.

This happened shortly after he had returned home from camp and found his grandma in a state of delirium. She had doused herself with a pail of water wetting the floor from toilet to the main hall and loudly proclaiming "Roberto! Roberto!" and the fateful "Duck! Duck!"

Ah Huat, being the good soldier, ducked. - Before realising his grandma was speaking in dialect. "Ark! Ark!" (Which more or less sounded like a simulated machine gun.)

Wet and delirious, his grandma then turned to switch on the family's cassette player wishing to hear her favourite Zhou Xuan song. The switch exploded, sparks flew, and grandma pirouetted before collapsing over the family armchair, her backside making sale to the sky (ceiling). On TV, some ad was selling a battery operated back scratcher.

"Haha, this is also good for an itchy backside," joked the presenter. "What are you trying to do? Sell backside?" joked the other presenter. But the conversation never happened as far as Ah Huat was concerned. The presenters were almost always angmoh. What did they know about Singlish and selling backside? (The latter plenty, actually.) Also, the electrocution of Grandma had tripped the power box in the flat.

Of his grandpa, Ah Huat knew little. But he distinctly recalled his grandma giggling every time she said, "Your grandpa has a big gun." This was almost always in the morning whilst preparing breakfast. Ah Huat would then (wrongly) look at the wall where his grandpa's shotgun hung. The old man worked part-time for the Singapore Primary Department shooting crows. Often Grandpa would tell Grandma that he was off to "pak jiao". Sometimes taking another route and when the sun had set allowing shadows to hide everything including back lane ladies with thick make-up and curious fingers. At times like this, his gun returned cold, his breath drunk and his wallet a little thinner. Pak jiao, my head! the neighbours would say, jealous of Grandpa's big gun and his stipend from SPD.

Crows were a huge problem in kampungs back then. Folks who owned guns (to kill tigers that roamed the jungle no less) were often hired to get rid of the noisy fuckers. Because the more crows disliked what was done to them, the more they crowed. In the end, that was how their population diminished. It was only when they learned to trick magpies with black shoe polish that their numbers increased again. This often happened near army camps.

Crows were pretty intelligent and still are. Ravens even better.

Did you know that crows were never native to Singapore and Malaysia? They were brought in to control a certain caterpillar infestation. You could say a foriegn talent brought in and then got shot for his/her service. Singaporeans have since improved on their treatment of FTs, except for the occasional maltreatment of a maid. And always, the local opposition party member.

Ah Huat being Ah Huat stared intently at a crow. But that caterpillar fact did not occur to him until he decided to buy a computer and modem. Then he installed Windows 3.0 and also bought a search engine called Alta Vista. He then typed "crow + grandpa" before realising it should have been crow and British. And "Singapore".

He then typed "sell backside".

It led him to a shares trading learning website pontificating on shares selling and buy back.

And side margins. "So, that's what it means!" he exclaimed triumphantly.

Ah Huat being Ah Huat signed up for the course. He eventually became very good at what he was doing and gotten very rich. And whenever he attended his platoon's reunion, his mates would ask him what he did for a living. "Sell backside, lor!"

Coming from Ah Huat, it was extra funny. My, our boy has grown! they would quip. Secretly they would lament not doing the same. Some still drove Gelab (er, Grab) and hankered after titties on some pretty ride. As for dark places, they were getting difficult to locate in over brightened Singapore. Besides, with petrol prices the way they are, it is just not worth the mileage getting there. Sell backside also cannot cover. Sad, but true.

The end

Background: (Inspiration) After some discussion of the current state of economy (looming recession) and loss of jobs.