I actually didn’t over pack for my month in Singapore, although I’d worn most things once. I was trying to find something different to wear and dug a bit deeper into the bottom of my suitcase. How could I have forgotten Raider Red? I pulled him out, along with my black shorts, and got dressed. I was good to go and very hungry.
I didn’t really have a plan for the day, but thought I would try a different hawker stand in Singapore’s central business district. After that, I figured I would just wander and see what I could find from there.
I hailed a cab and went to the Harborfront MRT station. Out of the cab and down the stairs to the subway I went, wondering where I would find myself. I had my iPod blaring Britney.
“All eyes on me in the center of the ring just like a circus. When I crack that whip, everybody gonna trip just like a circus.”
I don’t want to hear a word. I love Britney.
I waited in my own little Britney-world for the next train to take me to meet my lunch.“What will I have today? Try the duck? Go for some soup? Have some dim sum?”
My thoughts of food and now, the Pussycat Dolls, kept me from really noticing the looks I was getting. I thought my music might be too loud, so I turned it down.The train came, and I grabbed a seat. I had about five stops before I was to get off, so I made myself comfortable.
“When I grow-up, I wanna be famous…”
I was getting more looks as people were getting on the train. I checked my zipper. I looked at myself in a mirror. I even smelled myself. What the hell are all these people looking at? I was feeling self-conscious, all these unwanted looks in my direction. I caught men and women, young and old, all looking at me with a bit of horror.
I attempted to follow their eyes. What were they were so enamored with about me? I pulled my sunglasses down from my hair and onto my face. This was going to have to be a covert mission. AH HA! Caught one man eyeballing my chest! What a pervert. A woman in a hijab thought she could outsmart me just because her head was covered. I could see her eyes, and they were also looking at my chest. WHAT?
My stop finally came, and I watched the entire train breathe a sigh of relief when I stepped off. With Amy Winehouse blaring in my ears, I found a toilet and checked myself in a mirror.
“They tried to make me go to rehab, I said no, no, no.”
Nothing. I looked the same as I always had. I admired my shirt, and then it occurred to me. On my chest was Raider Red with two smoking guns, one placed strategically on each boob. Despite the odd placement of the guns, I don’t think that was why everyone looked so startled. It was the fact that I had guns on my shirt period.
Apparently, Raider Red is not a world-wide icon the way that Ronald McDonald and Mickey Mouse are. For all these people knew, I was some sort of terrorist with a bomb in my backpack. It didn’t help that on the subway, there was a looped video urging people to watch out for suspicious behavior, and then showed the subway bombs of Mumbai and London. Good grief!
After I figured out what exactly the problem was, I couldn’t help but use it to my advantage. Since I was in the central business district, it was quite crowded, especially at the hawker stand. Even though I was still jamming to my iPod, I had a man profusely apologize for stepping in front of me. I also had a lady allow me to cut in front of her to get my chicken and rice.
“Cause if you liked it then you should have put a ring on it…”
Walking the busy sidewalks, everyone moved to the side when we met. Nice. Apparently, not only did my backpack give me away as a tourist, my shirt coined me as a terrorist. Who would have thought?