The man from the country has not expected such difficulties: the law should always be accessible for everyone, he thinks, but as he now looks more closely at the gatekeeper in his fur coat, at his large pointed nose and his long, thin, black Tartar’s beard, he decides that it would be better to wait until he gets permission to go inside.
- Before the Law by Franz Kafka
As part of our ceaseless quest to uncover idyllic spots conducive to the production of high quality work, precious islands of intellectual serenity amidst the hectic zeitgeist of our busy little city, Patrick and I hatched up a plan to pay a visit to Raffles Town Club after school, in lieu of the usual Esplanade Library. We did this last Wednesday.
Yes, we actually played the part of pretentious pricks and did our schoolwork at the club. Or, at least, unfortunately predictably, tried to. But why even try? This is the club that tragically overpromised and underdelivered in its infancy; it was once embroiled in a highly publicized class action served by its own members. My father’s rationale for still keeping the practically worthless membership notwithstanding (seriously - about the only thing we go there for is the rather good Japanese restaurant), we figured that they shouldn’t be too discriminating about who they let in. Also, I might as well get our money’s worth.
Brandishing my dad’s tragically underutilized card, the security guard at the entrance - which, incidentally, was somewhat inconvenient to pedestrians such as us, being located on the side of the quadrilateral establishment the furthest as was geometrically possibly from where the bus stop was and all - did not stop us. I guess my practiced look of vaguely snobbish nonchalance can come in handy sometimes: perhaps it detracts enough attention away from my especially recognizable school uniform. This is perhaps also a good time to throw in the utterly random detail that we came across a person who had previously taught at our school right as we were reaching the gateway - we said hi in polite acknowledgement, not that we know her much or anything.
Upon reaching the imposing glass doors, with their comically badass twin guardian dragons in the Chinese tradition, that demarcate the interior of the club premises, the level of security was perceptibly increased: the doorman threw us a quizzical look of mild disbelief along with his welcome. Despite my quick insistence that I was going to meet dad who was apparently lounging about the premises for no reason at all on a weekday, I could not shake off the unsettling feeling of his supercilious eyes probing my uniform-clad self with disdain until I was entirely out of his sight.
There are a few major downsides to visiting a club on a weekday, and perhaps the most irksome is the lack of food and beverage of rational expense, or, maybe, it is the lack of any food and beverage at all. We should have had taken tea prior; the poolside cafe was largely deserted, save a couple of waiters who were rearranging the furniture, and we thus resorted to overpriced ice cream cones. To my knowledge, those were the only things that could be purchased with cash - everything else was either closed for the afternoon, or required a (my father’s) signature to charge the relevant exorbitant amount to the membership card.
Feeling thoroughly satisfied with our ice cream, not, we walked around the premises and eventually found an acceptable reading spot, and set up the essential laptops. NO WIRELESS INTERNET, much to our chagrin, UNLESS YOU GET A TEMPORARY LOGIN FROM THE COUNTER. Which had staff who were preternaturally suspicious of schoolboys.
This post is getting unbearably tedious to write; I’ll just conclude with the observation that the Internet thing pretty much sums up our experience on Wednesday: irksome. We didn’t even get much work done… ;_;
