Lost Luggage and Found Cake

The day before my departure for Bangkok went by more quickly than I anticipated. Yang and Ling each had busy days, and I once again whiled away the morning at the The Rivervale awaiting word on the status of my misdirected luggage.

Sunday at the airport’s Lost and Found offices, the representative told me my baggage would arrive from JFK to Changi early Monday morning and to expect a call to set a time for delivery. Monday when I called their baggage-trace hotline the person on the phone told me with confidence that my luggage would arrive Tuesday morning. When on Tuesday my baggage did not arrive and the service respondent assured me Wednesday would be the day of delivery, I took a trip to Singapore Air’s offices on Orchard Road to speak in-person. (This was a great excuse to take in the sights, do some window-shopping and grab something to eat.) I was quickly put at ease by the service representative who, during his phone conversation with the trace hotline, practically cracked me up as his needled whoever it was on the other line. “If you do not receive your luggage tomorrow, sir, call and demand compensation. Here is my name and my card.” Fair enough!

***

On my way home I stopped at Guardian to grab some hair conditioner. Even in the U.S. my senses fail me when browsing through the health & care aisles. A misstep is bound to occur, and before I know it I’m in the feminine hygiene section before reaching my intended destination. In Singapore, however, I can feel the weight of clerk’s and attendant’s eyes as I wander aimlessly through one aisle to the next. So unlike in the U.S., here I’m content to ask for help.

I approached a man in his twenties busy with stocking what appeared to be bottles of shampoo. The hair conditioner could not be far off I reckoned.

“Excuse me, where is the men’s hair conditioner?” I asked.

“Ah, no idea,” he said. “Cannot English, lah.”

I smiled. “It’s okay, I’m sure I’ll find it.”

I turned to inspect the products to my left, but the conversation didn’t stop there. “Could be there,” he said, pointing to the upper shelves on our left. “Or even be maybe down there.” He pointed down toward the bottom shelves on which sat bottles plastered with images of smiling Asian women, their hair soft and glossy. His English was better than he thought.

“Okay.” I kneeled down to inspect his suggestion.

“But cannot English. So sorry.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“I speak Chinese only.”

I nodded politely as I scanned through the selection before me.

“Is just a matter of practice,” he said, placing the last of the stock from his basket on the shelf in front of him. “I must learn to apply myself.”

I felt like saying “Han na!” Clearly his English was better than that spoken by some of my friends in the States! After reciting a Shakespeare sonnet in perfect iambic pentameter, he broke away to the back office. Meanwhile, I settled on searching through the feminine hair care products looking for something neutral in scent. A lady from the counter approached me.

“You need help, sir?” From her tone she sounded like no problem was too large to conquer.

“Yes, I’m looking for hair conditioner. I can’t find anything that doesn’t smell like fruit.”

“Oh,” she said, kneeling down to join me, “you want to smell like fruit?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head, “not like fruit. These all smell like strawberry, papaya, or apples.”

“Okay. You want natural?”

That was the word I was looking for. “Definitely.”

“For dyed or treated hair?”

“No.”

“For damaged or thinning hair?”

This gave me pause. “No,” I said, reluctantly.

“Then this, perhaps?” She grabbed a slim, plain-looking bottle from the shelf and opened it part way. “Smell, please.”

“That is so natural,” I said. “I’ll take it.”

It turns out the product brand is Asience, its motto: For Progressive Asian Beauties. Now I might be progressive, but I am not Asian, much less a beauty. But this goes to show how even buying hair conditioner in Singapore for an ang moh can be an amiable little adventure.

***

Only on Wednesday, a full 72-plus hours after my arrival to Singapore, did I receive my luggage. That meant the small gifts I bought Yang and Ling had arrived, too. Now these were very, very small items, mere tokens of appreciation, some of which included fridge magnets. Yes, you read correctly. Yang mentioned before I left for Singapore that he and Ling were in the process of decorating their refrigerator, so I donated six thematically dissimilar magnets to their cause.

However, I couldn’t just come bearing fridge magnets. So I also bought a heavy Mario Batal Italian cookbook and Blade Runner Collector’s Edition on BluRay. I’d need more, though. While killing time in Compass Point during the morning of my arrival, Yang commented on how much Ling liked the macha macha cake at Bread Talk. (He in fact bought her the exact same cake for her birthday.) I had to admit, it sure looked good. This would be the perfect show of appreciation.

But I had little time. Yang and Ling were set to arrive home quite soon, and with my departure to Bangkok looming near, this would be my last opportunity. So I ran to the Buangkok MRT terminal, boarded the train, minded the gap, alighted in Sengkang, and rushed through the brief link to the mall. Happy, happy. I had plenty of time, though I’d need be delicate when transporting the cake back to The Rivervale. The human traffic was particularly high, so I took no chances—I’d walk from Compass Point mall back home.

Only upon arriving home and placing the cake in the refrigerator did I remember what I’d forgotten: gift wrapping and a Thank You card. I sprinted back to Buangkok MRT, boarded, forgot about that stupid gap, alighted once more in Sengkang, and stood in line at the basement-level grocery store with an armful of gift wrap.

But when I got back home I had no time to apply care and consideration toward the wrapping of the gifts. If I was a skilled gift wrapper like Ann, perhaps I could’ve managed, but I’m a complete novice. And beyond that, I was sweating like Oprah in front of a buffet stand. So into the gift bags did the presents go, with the gift wrap crinkled and stuffed haphazardly behind them, and loose ribbon dangling festively from the opening.

All in all, it felt great giving gifts. I should do it more often. In fact, to haul all the stuff I bought in Bangkok back home I’ll have to buy another luggage bag.

But no macha macha cake—too messy.