I Want to Die.

Before I became a taxi driver, I was certain that taxi drivers in Singapore has all kind of "lobang" ("opportunities" in Malay), especially from "midnight-girls" and I was always curious to find out. Now that I'm a taxi driver myself, do I've such "lobang"?. Do I get "indecent proposal" from mid-night girls or sexual favours as payment for the fare?. Yes, a few to-date, but accepted none, lest my wife demands that I change my job. Anyway, I remember one "offer" that almost got me into trouble with the law.

Around midnight at Geylang Road, I was flagged down by a young girl infront of "Nameless NightClub". She sat beside me and asked me in halting Mandarin to send her to nearby Balestier Road. She looks like a teenager from Vietnam and was seductively dressed in a loose half tank top and denim shots. She was very beautiful with bright eyes, silky long hair and busty assets. As I drove off, I could not control my temptation to steal a quick glance at her a voluptuous bosoms through her loose low-cut tank top. Her thighs were smooth and her denim shorts were so small that it could pass for a pantie. She was like in a two piece swimsuit. This seems to be the standard attire of the Vietnamese mid-night girls in Geylang area. Few could afford the expensive grown worn by the high-end night clubs ladies in the city proper.

Now, coming back to her seductive "assets". Her mouth-watering bosom ignite my sexual hormones like when I was 18 and momentarily, I forgot that I was holding a steering wheel. Luckily, my sexual continence was in working condition and I was able to tame my raging lustful thoughts. She instinctively knew that I had made a mischievous overture just from my mere glance and reckoned that I might be interested in a romantic rendezvous with her. Sure enough, half way through the journey, the young lass began her sales talk. She told me that she worked in a pub near where I picked her. Her day's taking had been bad with hardly any tips from her customers as there were very few. She was worried for her next meal.

I was not surprised at her poor tips as it was a Monday night, when partying crowd is thin.
"Maybe you should switch pub or supplement your income with other work" I said nonchalantly, totally devote of any empathy. I regretted what I said especially the latter words. She was in a sea of unhappy memories before I opened my mouth but upon hearing my suggestions, she became alive with sunrise of hopes for a quick deal.
"Uncle, like to relax and have some fun. I'm very good. We can be friends". She said sweetly with a slight smile. She then leaned side-way towards me, deliberately letting her soft bosom tough my arms and placed her tender right hand on my lap. 
"Uncle is an old man with no money, like you." I said as I stared at her with  a cheeky smile.
"Never mind, come with me. Ok?. She pleaded softly into my ears and began to stroke the thinning hair on my head. She then moved the other hand to my groin and began to gently stroke my private part. In seconds, she was literally all over me. I was stunned by her aggressive sales moves.
"Hey, Stop!. I'm driving". I said angrily as a matter of fact. I regretted the tone I had used.
"You don't like me?" She was startled by my sudden outburst and quickly removed her hands.
"I want to die!". She screamed and then released the safety belt, opened the car door, ready to jump off.
"Hey, Miss, Stop,  I'm Sorry. Ok, Sorry". I pleaded and pulled her towards me. I was stunned dead by her bizarre behavior and her scream still haunt me in my nightmare. Why would she want to kill herself inside my taxi?. Eventually, she removed her hand from the door, which was already half open and started to cry.
I immediately stopped my taxi at a empty bus stop along Balestier Road.
"Miss, Calm down, Don't Cry, Ok?. I consoled her as she swept her tears from her watery eyes. She seems depressed, or was she putting on an act. It doesn't matter to me at that moment. All I was concerned was to ensure that no serious life and death situation happened in my cab.
A few moments later, I asked "Miss, where is your house?".
"Here". she replied, pointing to the row of shop houses.behind the bus stop.
I heaved a sight of relief for the location coincidence and let her off immediately without collecting the $6 fare. As I drove off and through my rear mirror, I saw her settled down on seat at the bus stop, her small figure disappearing from my radar of misery. I felt that I had unloaded a heavy weight from my heart that night.

I knew too many stories like her. I knew how they came, how they got stuck and how they got carried away by the undercurrent of this place. I heard these stories time and again, so much so that I had become immune to the tormenting feeling prompted by them. However, occasionally I let them get the better of me and allowed them to take me for a ride.

                             Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places