Honestly, I’m writing this while nursing the mother of all hangovers and looking at the scraped-up side of my PMD, feeling like a complete clown. Last night was the peak of “stupid prizes.”
I was out with the kakis at one of those old-school coffeeshops near Woodlands St 31. You know the vibe—the floor is slightly oily, the uncle is uncle-ing, and the auntie keeps clearing the empty bottles. We started with one bucket of Heineken, then another of Tiger, and before I knew it, the table was covered in green bottles and a plate of half-eaten satay. Suddenly it’s 1:30 AM, the auntie is already washing the floor, and I’m vibing way too hard.
Instead of being a responsible adult and calling a Grab, I looked at my PMD and thought, “Eh, Woodlands so big, roads so empty, TP mana got? Confirm plus chop nobody catch one.”
So there I was, zig-zagging along the cycling paths near Riverside Secondary, feeling like I was in Fast & Furious: Marsiling Drift. In my head, I was a legend. I was literally muttering “haha no one catch me” under my breath like some kind of low-budget villain. I felt invincible. The wind was hitting my face, the beer was telling me I had the reflexes of a cat, and I thought I was the king of the North.
Spoiler alert: I am not the king of the North.
I tried to take a sharp turn near one of those HDB void decks to shortcut my way home, but I completely misjudged the curb because my depth perception was basically gone. My front wheel clipped the edge, and because my balance was non-existent, I didn’t even “fall”—I just sort of folded into the grass like a wet piece of roti prata.
As I was lying there in the dirt, smelling like stale lager and bad decisions, a GrabFood rider cycled past. He didn’t even stop; he just looked at me, shook his head, and muttered, “Siao ah,” before disappearing into the night. That hurt more than the scraped knee, honestly. Even the delivery riders think I’m a joke.
I woke up today realizing how lucky I am. If I had swerved onto the main road and a bus was coming, or if LTA officers were actually doing a spot check near the park connector, I’d be facing a massive fine, a confiscated device, or worse—a permanent stay at Khoo Teck Puat Hospital.
To the uncle whose flower pot I might have knocked over: sorry, uncle. To everyone else: don’t be like me. “No one catch me” is the most dangerous thought you can have in Singapore. The “ghost” of Woodlands almost caught me last night, and I’m never riding that thing after even a sip of shandy ever again.