Gal behind the counter at Champion here up past the station, the chief Pilot outlet at this end, rises to draw out the chosen tray of pens. All the pens sit in little aluminum trays like we had at home for the ice-blocks, with the dividers here missing. 1700Rp, 3600Rp, 4800Rp. The middle, the 3600’s, looked familiar with the serrated black plastic sleeve in little loops. Lots of those pointy tops had been chewed these four years almost. Ya, Zero point Seven was just the shot. (Five was too thin and Ones showed through on the paper behind.) This two inch square slip was for testing then?... OK. A trifle embarrassing with the scrutiny over the poor handwriting, but of course hardly likely the lass in her honey-yellow and black uniform could make head or tail of any of that. (Numerous illiterates in Geylang had complimented on the fine cursive script.) Even without the pork pie and red bandanna—it was seven PM—an impressive tall White customer. People with real money in Jogja would disdain pen and paper; everything was digital now of course. Even so, it was not all, entirely one way. Champion here had more than a dozen employees, working from morning to night; a big place of more than 150sq.m., excluding back offices. Here was a professional man clearly, weighing the various product with some discernment. The 3600Rp was not bad. Why? When? Perhaps were common pen-testers. Even right-side up the girl would struggle; the brief exchange had established she had almost no English. I love you might have been ventured in fact here, why not? A little play that the woman may have understood from the tees on the street and the TV. Apart from this 3600 were any of the others on this shelf GEL my dear? …Ah. Mmmm…. All gel. Oh, I see. Well, in that case lemme have a shot at that 4800Rp top of the range. Don’t matter it’s a button. Certainly sir, when she found the slot sliding the rear glass door across. Because was another pen-tester. There was always room for because. Big B-cause. I could love you if you let me, often sprung from the pen too in recent months when no-one was looking over the shoulder, a little message in a bottle, something to give the next customer pause—a pretty young girl hopefully—in the middle of their deliberations. (There had been a young woman in Singapore to whom it should have been spoken last year.) This one then, despite the evidence seeming to be ambiguous. The price differential suggested some kind of perhaps hidden superiority. One should never scrimp too much on materials. It was beginning to look as if the journals might only be brought to the attention of the researchers many years into the future, multiple decades if not centuries. Good quality ink indispensable. As you wish, sir. The woman, a young rounded figure smelling of soap still at that hour, mother of school-age children most likely, produced her receipt pad, ensured the copy paper was properly in place and entered the date first of all: 30/5/2015, followed by the single digit in the No’s column, BP Something else in the Nama and finally 4800 in the Jumiah. Done. Excellent. From there it was around to the side near the back for the Cashier; one recalled the procedure from earlier trips. The white and green slip; blue was retained at the relevant section. Two older women one either side of the counter were chatting at the money-box, trustworthiness stamped in lines on their faces, both lighting up at the greeting in their own language. No stumbling over big figures, it was all there plain to see on the slips—4800Rupiah. There might not have been too many of those moved in recent days. Thank you, thank you. Welcome, welcome. Charmed. Delighted. Good evening one and all. In the larger, newer chains of course the aircon was turned up and humanity down. An earlier One point Seven had been bought same day from Gramedia at the Mall; this second was a sudden impulse after seeing the lights on trooping up to the Warnet. One knew the kind of reception on offer at Champion.
Sunday, May 31, 2015
Gel
Gal behind the counter at Champion here up past the station, the chief Pilot outlet at this end, rises to draw out the chosen tray of pens. All the pens sit in little aluminum trays like we had at home for the ice-blocks, with the dividers here missing. 1700Rp, 3600Rp, 4800Rp. The middle, the 3600’s, looked familiar with the serrated black plastic sleeve in little loops. Lots of those pointy tops had been chewed these four years almost. Ya, Zero point Seven was just the shot. (Five was too thin and Ones showed through on the paper behind.) This two inch square slip was for testing then?... OK. A trifle embarrassing with the scrutiny over the poor handwriting, but of course hardly likely the lass in her honey-yellow and black uniform could make head or tail of any of that. (Numerous illiterates in Geylang had complimented on the fine cursive script.) Even without the pork pie and red bandanna—it was seven PM—an impressive tall White customer. People with real money in Jogja would disdain pen and paper; everything was digital now of course. Even so, it was not all, entirely one way. Champion here had more than a dozen employees, working from morning to night; a big place of more than 150sq.m., excluding back offices. Here was a professional man clearly, weighing the various product with some discernment. The 3600Rp was not bad. Why? When? Perhaps were common pen-testers. Even right-side up the girl would struggle; the brief exchange had established she had almost no English. I love you might have been ventured in fact here, why not? A little play that the woman may have understood from the tees on the street and the TV. Apart from this 3600 were any of the others on this shelf GEL my dear? …Ah. Mmmm…. All gel. Oh, I see. Well, in that case lemme have a shot at that 4800Rp top of the range. Don’t matter it’s a button. Certainly sir, when she found the slot sliding the rear glass door across. Because was another pen-tester. There was always room for because. Big B-cause. I could love you if you let me, often sprung from the pen too in recent months when no-one was looking over the shoulder, a little message in a bottle, something to give the next customer pause—a pretty young girl hopefully—in the middle of their deliberations. (There had been a young woman in Singapore to whom it should have been spoken last year.) This one then, despite the evidence seeming to be ambiguous. The price differential suggested some kind of perhaps hidden superiority. One should never scrimp too much on materials. It was beginning to look as if the journals might only be brought to the attention of the researchers many years into the future, multiple decades if not centuries. Good quality ink indispensable. As you wish, sir. The woman, a young rounded figure smelling of soap still at that hour, mother of school-age children most likely, produced her receipt pad, ensured the copy paper was properly in place and entered the date first of all: 30/5/2015, followed by the single digit in the No’s column, BP Something else in the Nama and finally 4800 in the Jumiah. Done. Excellent. From there it was around to the side near the back for the Cashier; one recalled the procedure from earlier trips. The white and green slip; blue was retained at the relevant section. Two older women one either side of the counter were chatting at the money-box, trustworthiness stamped in lines on their faces, both lighting up at the greeting in their own language. No stumbling over big figures, it was all there plain to see on the slips—4800Rupiah. There might not have been too many of those moved in recent days. Thank you, thank you. Welcome, welcome. Charmed. Delighted. Good evening one and all. In the larger, newer chains of course the aircon was turned up and humanity down. An earlier One point Seven had been bought same day from Gramedia at the Mall; this second was a sudden impulse after seeing the lights on trooping up to the Warnet. One knew the kind of reception on offer at Champion.
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