Well, I decided there's no point in sulking about being locked out of my webmail, so I shall stake my down-but-not-out-ness in recounting what happened that fateful day on the travellator at Changi Airport. I'd actually contemplated cutting-and-pasting that irate letter to the press so that I wouldn't have to recount the entire incident all over again, but that option's not open to me now. Which is, on hindsight, better because I wouldn't have to restrain myself and try and sound civil for credibility's sake.
So I was at the Departure Hall of Changi Airport, wearing the aforementioned 3½-inch heels, simultaneously drinking water, being on the line with my mum about something of a certain importance to the both of us, and looking to go down to the bus terminal on the basement. Although I was really nearer to the stairs, I made a detour for the travellator when I caught sight of it. This I did even though I couldn't really tell, from where I stood then, whether it was in service or not. I figured it was in any case better than clambering down flights and flights of stairs on the ball of my feet. For the guys who are reading this, imagine pounding down hard concrete steps, your feet in a Barbie-poised brace that renders them completely inflexible, over and over again, all the while trying, not simply to retain your balance, but also to maintain a posture decent enough not to earn you the nickname "Crippled Duck".
My suspicions about the travellator not working were confirmed when I got there. Only two others were present: an elderly man, already making his way gingerly down its not-so gentle slope, and a middle-aged man with wavy, shoulder length, ( badly-dyed) brown hair in a blue polo-tee, ostensibly the uniform of the company by which he was employed. The latter was standing somewhere next to me. That the two of them were having a rather genial conversation of some sort was the only other thing I noticed about them, and thus I commenced my own journey down the people-mover.
Little did I know how perilous it was to become - halfway in my descent, without any warning that I could discern, the travellator abruptly started moving. Caught off-guard, my left leg went into a bicycle kick, and half the contents in my water-bottle shot out of its receptacle making a dramatic splash all over the window next to the travellator, before my reflexes kicked in and I finally managed, thank heavens, to regain my balance. The elderly old man meanwhile, had alighted safely and now stood at the foot of the travellator, gaping at the events that were unfolding before him.
Naturally upset, I whipped back immediately to where the middle-aged man still stood, and was greeted by not a few shocked faces of awaiting passengers, and his one very indignant mien. Not bothering to conceal his impatience and annoyance at my aberrance, he shouted for all and sundry to hear, these responsibility-shirking words: "I already told the uncle I was going to start (the machine)!"
Nonplussed and cowled by his aggresiveness, I turned back and fought back initial tears of wrongful accusation. Nevertheless, after regaining my composure, I looked up and shot Mr Bad Hairdo, also travelling downwards, dirty glances ever so often. He never once deigned to look in my direction. I had half a mind to whip out my digicam so that I could post his disgraceful face up for the whole of cyberspace to behold, but flashes of him raining punches on me changed my mind.
Let me now state that, admittedly, I have part of the blame to shoulder. Being engrossed in the phone conversation with my mother meant that I wasn't as aware of my surroundings as I ought to have been, and I really should have put my water bottle away while walking down the travellator - but really, I did not think he would turn it on without first issuing some kind of final warning. Or maybe he did, but I didn't hear it. Fair enough. I also have to give him due credit for waiting til the elderly gentleman got off the travellator before starting it up again; on the same note, he was probably also only trying not to delay the ladies who were waiting to ride the travellator.
That said, however, he should have also ensured that it was well and truly safe before turning the travellator on. I mean, yes, I am an able-bodied woman in my early twenties, but he really should have factored in my being on the phone. Surely he couldn't have missed my right hand clasped over my ear? It's not a migraine, for goodness' sake (and if it were, he'd have even more reason to be careful)! Or did he buy into the stereotype that women are great multi-taskers?
Even if I can discount the possibility that it was an earnest oversight on his part, I cannot forgive his antagonistic attitude after witnessing my near-fall. In the worst-case scenario, I could've cracked my skull and be lying unconscious in hospital right now. Or I could've sustained a broken limb or twisted ankle. (Right, Chye? *sniff*) And - I can't resist this one - this being Changi Airport I was at, imagine the repercussions if this did not happen to a Singaporean, but a visiting foreigner. What kind of stories would he/she bring back of our city-state, which is at this point in time trying to position itself as a uniquely wonderful tourist spot not to be missed? What of Changi Airport's much-trumpeted status as one of the premier airports of the world? And - okay okay one last one - what if, hypothetically speaking, I were unknowingly in the early stages of a pregnancy (and married, of course), and fell? Many women don't know so when they're in their first two months of carrying a child.
I think I've made my point.
In the end, however, I decided not to send out that email. Having the letter all typed out and just a "send" button away from making it official made me cognizant of the power I wielded to potentially put that guy out of a job. Plus I know, it's bloody damn hard for people who are over 40 to find a job once they've lost one. So you better wake up your idea Mr Bad Hairdo, thank your lucky stars and damn well learn from that incident.
