While in the queue into 1 Altitude bar a couple nights ago, the guy ahead of us turned to us and said, “Welcome to Singapore! I’m from the tourism board.”
Now we knew he was joking because he was caucasian and obviously not a Singaporean, so we laughed. He said a lot of other things before finally admitting that he wasn’t really part of the tourism board.
“Oh really? That’s shocking,” I replied. “So you lied to us? How can we possibly trust you now?”
He was not one to back down quickly, so he explained, “No, it was just a fib. A fib is a cheeky lie.”
After he gave examples of a fib versus a lie, I told him, “You know, that’s the first time anyone has ever explained the difference between fib and lie to me. So thank you so much. This has been a very informative night.”
He acknowledged my thanks, then I continued, “So if you’re not from Singapore, are you tourists, then?” He nodded and then said that one of his friends, however, worked here, and pointed to said friend. “So where are you from?” I asked.
Before he could reply, my friend Maribeth jumped in, saying, “UK, from the sound of your accents.” Whereupon his friend deadpanned in response: “I’m Indian. You’re racist.” We all laughed.
As the line moved on, the guy who first talked to us noticed the sign saying that the bar’s entry age limit for men was 25 and said, “We’re too young.”
He didn’t look too young at all so I questioned this. “I’m 17,” he said. “I love Justin Bieber. I have Bieber Fever.”
“I find that hard to believe,” I responded skeptically. ” You’ll have to prove it by singing one of his songs.”
Not a missing a beat, he said, “Sorry but I’m not gonna do that. I don’t sing to people whose first names I don’t even know.”
Ooh, a challenge. I said, “If you had a first name, would you sing an entire song then?”
“Yes,” he affirmed with a smile. “I’m cheap,” he added. I laughed.
“Well it’s Heidee,” I replied, “and I expect that song.”
“Heidee… isn’t that Swiss? Like someone who cuts down logs?” he asked.
“Yes it’s swiss but it’s like someone who takes care of goats up in the mountains,” I corrected. “Or like that supermodel who just divorced from Seal. I’m her, actually, in disguise.”
“So you’re not seeing Seal anymore?” he asked.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “We just got divorced.”
“Then I’m definitely gonna sing you that song upstairs,” he said.
At this point their group was asked to go in, and by the time our group had our turn and we walked into the bar which was way up high in the building, it was too dark and too crowded and we never saw him again.
So I never got to hear my Bieber song. I never even got his name, actually.
So someday if you meet a blonde guy with a British accent at a bar queue who strikes up a conversation with you by welcoming you to the country and saying that he’s from the tourism board, and if he mentions that he’s seventeen and has Bieber Fever, please let me know. He owes me a song.
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