Double Shots

As usual, I was sitting on a table in a coffee-chain store at a mall in Jakarta. My laptop was in front of me, a cup of half-drunk coffee stared at me, cables were around – adding a complete mess to the table.

I felt the urge to smoke a cigarette after sitting, working on my assignments for hours. I went outside to the smoking area.

Five minutes after my coming back to the table, a woman approached me. She was no more than 30 years old. She introduced herself, asking for my time. I said yes.

She said her name was Debby, an insurance agent.  She wanted my opinion on her program. She began with asking me a lot of questions about how a person should plan his/her finance, what was common people’s habit of saving and so on.

Her voice was flat and monotonous, as if she didn’t have to think about the sentences she was about to use. She tried to tell me how money would inflate in the future, when I was retired and had no income.

She suggested me to start planning for my retirement. I said nothing but smiled. How could I think of retirement while I haven’t really started a real career?

I said retirement is not the thing I should think of right now. It was a long way to go. She was shocked with my answers.

“So, you don’t plan on retire?” she asked; there was a surprise in her tone.

I decided to play her game. Yes, but not now.

She went on with her special program: if you save your money with us, you’ll get financial protection
when you retired, which is not provided by other banks, bla bla bla.

I didn’t buy it. I know it when I need one. I know it when I can afford one.

“How about if you get sick one day and need to pay for hospital?” she asked in the middle of her explanation.

“Then, try not to be sick,” she hated that answer.

#

Another day on another place. This time it was at a local coffee chain. I was frustrated with the slow Internet connection. I looked around just to reduce the frustration. A woman in her 30s, sitting alone on a table across me, caught my eyes. She smiled, such a fake friendly smile.

“May I join you?” she asked gaily.

“Yes,” I said. I was just curious if I could handle her.

She moved her drink, a glass of water, which could be obtain free of charge. She sat in front of me, introducing her name, which I couldn’t remember because she spoke so fast – every word came out of her mouth was a bullet thrown out of a machine gun. She said she was working in a foreign exchange office.  She wore a thick, uneven foundation powder. Her brows were trimmed. She drew her own, the right one had a higher curve. Her hair was wavy, hanging around her chest.

“So, are you interested in investing? Our company is good, wait until you see our office and you’ll change your mind,” this was said in less than two second.

“I can’t afford an investment right now,” I answered without looking at her.

“People in the office will talk about money, how fast they can earn. You’ll be interested,” she continued.

I am not interested in money talk. I don’t believe in easy money.

“Can I smoke?” she asked.

“Sure,” I lit my cigarette. She took out her pack.

“By the way, I am running out of cigarette. Can you buy me one?” she smiled, an excuse smile.

“You can smoke mine, if you want,” I lift my pack.

“No, I can’t smoke that. I only smoke this,” she showed me her blue-greenish pack: an American brand, menthol, typical woman’s cigarette.

“So?”

“Well, you can give me money and I will go buy it,” she was laughing while talking.

“Okay, how much?” I was reluctant to give the money, actually.

“Twenty, maybe,” she grinned. I knew the one she smoked won’t cost more than fifteen.

“I don’t have that much,” I showed her what I had in my pocket: three bills of five.

“Oh, any amount you wish, I can add the gap,” she smiled, a greedy smile.

I gave her ten. She took it from me, put in her handbag and continue convincing me to invest some money. I knew I have failed.

“I can’t afford it,” I said.

“Oh, where are you going after this?” she changed the topic.

“Home,” I looked at my phone, reading my friend’s comment as I told him I had just been ripped off by a woman. I laughed silently. Somehow the woman reminded me of this friend.

“It’s very unusual a client said he is going home. Usually they asked me back, ‘where do you want to go?’” she shot me with her ammo.

“I am not your client,” I blew out the smoke.

“Everyone I talk to is a client. So, how is it? Want to visit our office? Or buy me a cheesecake?” she asked.

“If I can’t afford an investment, I won’t be able to buy you a cheesecake,” I had to get rid of her. I looked at my phone.

“I hope you don’t mind me continue talking,” she was ready for another shot.

“As long as you don’t mind me looking at my phone,” I looked at my phone.

“Oh, if you are busy, please excuse me, I have been waiting for a client,” she stood up, gathering her belongings.

“Okay, good luck,” my eyes were on my laptop screen.

Five minutes later, two men came. Both of them were in their 50s. She sat with them, repeating her friendliness. Those men seem to buy her service.

Living in Jakarta is difficult, especially if you need to make ends meet. You need to use any means to win a client, even if that means you have to sell your dignity and pride, like this woman.