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Just like every other college day, I headed to my “car-park” (a.k.a the pool of sand in front of some housing area) to drive back home. The only difference is, this time, instead of the usual uneventful ride home, right when I turn out from a round-a-bout, I was stopped by the police.
The police signaled me to pull aside. Thinking that it was a mistake as I had my seat belt on, wasn’t speeding, and did nothing I knew of that violate the undang-undang, I was prepared to let him check and go off. He denoted that I roll down the window, and I meekly did so.
“Rodex,” He said. I was puzzled. What on earth is that?
“Rodex,” There it goes again. Or maybe he meant “Rolex”. I did not wore any watch or any watch-look-alike on my bare wrist and could not think of anything that triggered him to say so.
“Mana Rodex?” He was starting to get impatient. It was then that I finally caught what he meant. Road Tax!
Stupidly, I asked him, “Road tax, ya, kenapa?” I didn’t know what the hell road tax has to do with him stopping my car, and certainly didn’t know what was wrong, yet.
“Rodex mana?” He persisted.
Being as blur as ever, I shot him back, “ Road Tax mana?”
“TU!” He pointed at the sticker on the left side of the windscreen.
“Ya, kenapa?”
He was frustrated. “Expire!”
I stole a look at the sticker, OH Mee God. 2005?!! That’s history!
“Macam mana?” I stammered.
“ Ni, nak saman tau? Tau?”
“Okay…”
“SAMAN tau?? Saman?!!”
“Ya”
He must have thought I was incredibly stupid, so he said, “Call bapak.”
Again, I obediently followed, hoping my dad would pick up. I was in luck. He picked it up at the last ring.
“Daddy,” I screamed. “Did you not pay the R-o-a-d T-a-x ?”
“I did.”
“But the police here had just stopped me, so, obviously, you did not.”
“There’s two sticker there, the new one’s at the bottom.”
I cast a glance at the police and pointed. He bellowed, “Moi, tu 2006 Nowembe. NOWEMBE tau? Turun tengok. Turun.”
I ignored him and asked my dad, “what now?”
“Let me speak to him.”
I passed the phone to him. My heart missed a beat when he pressed my precious phone against his greasy head. He repeated the whole “Rodex incident” to my dad and with some “ Ni P license tau?”, “ SAMAN tau?” “You KL nak datang jauh la, tak boleh”, “SAMAN ya?”, “Betul SAMAN ya?”, “Memang expire,” “Tak Boleh,” “So, SAMAN anak ni ya?”, he grudgingly handed the phone back to me and said, “Bapak suruh Saman.”
Seeing I was quiet, he added, “Moi dating dari mana?” He eyed my bag with a hard to read impression, “College ke?”
Somehow a voice in my mind told me it was unwise to tell him the truth, I answered, “ tak la, ambil orang. Saya ni tak sekolah.”
“ You ni P tau?”
“ya, kenapa?”
“P lah! Ni point!” He seethed, poking furiously at my now handed over P license.
“Point berapa?”
“Sepulo! Lima Belas gantung tau?”
“Aiyok, jadi nak macam mana?” I started to sweat.
“Ambiek undang lagi la. Boleh macam mana? Bapak tu tak nak belanja pun,”
Finally he let it slip.
“Ya ke?”
“Kamu ni ada berapa?”
I opened up my purse. Shit, my entire month’s allowance was in there. Luckily for me, only 20 was laid out, the rest was bundled up behind a hair saloon coupon.
“Dua puluh la”, I showed him half the content of my purse, blocking the rest.
“Sikit saja, tapi, ni student saya boleh tolong la. Boleh la…”
“I extracted the bill (with some difficulty as I was still trying to block the rest of my hard-earned-money in the process), and raised it to him. He rapidly pushed my hand downwards and hushed, “Letak bawah license,” Still in a trance, I did as I was told. I barely heard his last comment, “lain kali jangan a?” when I stepped on the accelerator and was more than happy to speed off, cursing over and over again his name in my head.
The police signaled me to pull aside. Thinking that it was a mistake as I had my seat belt on, wasn’t speeding, and did nothing I knew of that violate the undang-undang, I was prepared to let him check and go off. He denoted that I roll down the window, and I meekly did so.
“Rodex,” He said. I was puzzled. What on earth is that?
“Rodex,” There it goes again. Or maybe he meant “Rolex”. I did not wore any watch or any watch-look-alike on my bare wrist and could not think of anything that triggered him to say so.
“Mana Rodex?” He was starting to get impatient. It was then that I finally caught what he meant. Road Tax!
Stupidly, I asked him, “Road tax, ya, kenapa?” I didn’t know what the hell road tax has to do with him stopping my car, and certainly didn’t know what was wrong, yet.
“Rodex mana?” He persisted.
Being as blur as ever, I shot him back, “ Road Tax mana?”
“TU!” He pointed at the sticker on the left side of the windscreen.
“Ya, kenapa?”
He was frustrated. “Expire!”
I stole a look at the sticker, OH Mee God. 2005?!! That’s history!
“Macam mana?” I stammered.
“ Ni, nak saman tau? Tau?”
“Okay…”
“SAMAN tau?? Saman?!!”
“Ya”
He must have thought I was incredibly stupid, so he said, “Call bapak.”
Again, I obediently followed, hoping my dad would pick up. I was in luck. He picked it up at the last ring.
“Daddy,” I screamed. “Did you not pay the R-o-a-d T-a-x ?”
“I did.”
“But the police here had just stopped me, so, obviously, you did not.”
“There’s two sticker there, the new one’s at the bottom.”
I cast a glance at the police and pointed. He bellowed, “Moi, tu 2006 Nowembe. NOWEMBE tau? Turun tengok. Turun.”
I ignored him and asked my dad, “what now?”
“Let me speak to him.”
I passed the phone to him. My heart missed a beat when he pressed my precious phone against his greasy head. He repeated the whole “Rodex incident” to my dad and with some “ Ni P license tau?”, “ SAMAN tau?” “You KL nak datang jauh la, tak boleh”, “SAMAN ya?”, “Betul SAMAN ya?”, “Memang expire,” “Tak Boleh,” “So, SAMAN anak ni ya?”, he grudgingly handed the phone back to me and said, “Bapak suruh Saman.”
Seeing I was quiet, he added, “Moi dating dari mana?” He eyed my bag with a hard to read impression, “College ke?”
Somehow a voice in my mind told me it was unwise to tell him the truth, I answered, “ tak la, ambil orang. Saya ni tak sekolah.”
“ You ni P tau?”
“ya, kenapa?”
“P lah! Ni point!” He seethed, poking furiously at my now handed over P license.
“Point berapa?”
“Sepulo! Lima Belas gantung tau?”
“Aiyok, jadi nak macam mana?” I started to sweat.
“Ambiek undang lagi la. Boleh macam mana? Bapak tu tak nak belanja pun,”
Finally he let it slip.
“Ya ke?”
“Kamu ni ada berapa?”
I opened up my purse. Shit, my entire month’s allowance was in there. Luckily for me, only 20 was laid out, the rest was bundled up behind a hair saloon coupon.
“Dua puluh la”, I showed him half the content of my purse, blocking the rest.
“Sikit saja, tapi, ni student saya boleh tolong la. Boleh la…”
“I extracted the bill (with some difficulty as I was still trying to block the rest of my hard-earned-money in the process), and raised it to him. He rapidly pushed my hand downwards and hushed, “Letak bawah license,” Still in a trance, I did as I was told. I barely heard his last comment, “lain kali jangan a?” when I stepped on the accelerator and was more than happy to speed off, cursing over and over again his name in my head.
