A kind of car wash

There are three carparks where I work. An underground carpark, a ground level covered carpark, and one open-air carpark. You can have your car washed daily for a few hundred dollars a month, regardless of which of the three you park in. Add another hundred and you can have it waxed every two weeks.

Everytime I go into the underground carpark, as I swipe my card through the gate, I will see a few guys sitting around on cheap plastic chairs, staring at me. They watch every car that comes in. If I go in later in the day, say after 10 am, I will see them scattered around the carpark, cleaning cars. When I drive past, they stop what they are doing, and turn to look at me. Not all of them work all of the time. Sometimes one will be standing around, smoking a cigarette, or slouching on a chair, dozing off, or just standing, bucket and duster in hand, staring into space.

I never see them talking amongst themselves. Apart from a young woman, who is no longer seen now. She was the supervisor, I think. I saw her telling the men what to do. Pointing at cars, pointing at wheelcaps, sometimes with her hands on her hips.

I never see them smile, either.

These guys, they don't wear uniforms. They wear short sleeved polyester shirts, t-shirts, trousers, tracksuit jackets, in various shades of grey, off-white, dark blue, more grey, light brown. Some wear sandals with or without socks, some wear trainers, some wear flip flops. Even in winter.

Ex-cons? Care in the community? I do not know.

On the ferry

Saturday afternoon, the Star Ferry was busy with tourists. The air was thick, humid and polluted. I got onto the ferry and found a seat next to two young women. They were busy chatting. I looked down and saw that I was wearing identical flip flops as the woman next to me. Her toes long and skinny, her toe nails dark red.

The ferry was full and a few people had to stand. I have never seen this happen before.

It was noisy, and seemed as if everyone was talking to someone, except me. The woman next to me had her head turned towards her companion, whilst twisting a lock of hair with her fingers. I thought her hand might touch me. The seats were very close.

She spoke with a North American accent, in a stream-of-consciousness kind of way. She was doing most of the talking. I thought they might be exchange students. She seemed to be commenting on life in Hong Kong. All her sentences began with "... and you know what?..."

".... and you know what? .... social studies class yesterday.... like, we are the top two percent elite! .... we have access to books, films, art.... you know what? If we don't do something about... it's up to us, you know? ... and you know what? .... a mission... must do something, we can really do something...."

I wanted to turn round and look at her face. I kind of did, a little, but all I saw was masses of curly brown hair, her fingers twisting around a lock.

Social Studies class? That would be high school.

Me, very friendly

I have been making a deliberate effort to put on a fake smile when I encounter other people. Even if they are people I do not know. Especially when I am not wearing my glasses or contacts.

I do this by turning the corners of my mouth slightly upwards, whilst relaxing the rest of my face. I have been practicing this in front of the mirror. I think I am quite convincing. I imagine the consequence of this somewhat inane effort is that people would perceive me as a friendly person, when in reality I am not. I have seen other people do it. It seems to work for them.