  What is it about me and hawkers? I had this urge to part with my money after the exam today (yup, it really is our easiest physics prelim in at least the last five yrs) and get cheated at McDonald's again, but I turned back at the last corner to find a radish cake stall (or carrot cake, or whatever). What the heck is wrong about me buying a $3 plate of radish cake (sans sweet sauce; that thing gets on my nerves) and waiting patiently while *they* serve a million people who ordered after i did? They were pointing at me with wrinkled fingers as if I couldn't afford to pay. But don't worry: the guy who fries the radish cake probably has his gonads - and his generative ability - suitably fixed by the wonders of fate, karma and thermodynamics.
And the lady - probably the wife - who thinks I'm really funny probably earns some extra cash posing as a rabbit, what with her buck teeth and all. In the buff. Or, on hindsight, maybe with a fig leaf in the way. Some things ought not to be seen, not even by a spouse. Here I am, one of the few, few student-age customers who can get sick of hamburgers, glad to exchange service for cash, and there you have some impotent, balding dude and his buck-toothed wife chortling away in the face of impending misfortune.
Or, since I'm cursing them, just another bad episode in a long queue of disasters. Maybe tomorrow the stall will collapse. Maybe I'll go eat at McDonald's some day. At least I've got a manager to complain to. And you wonder why Singaporeans are such evil consumers... 
