A murtabak story

With the buzz still going on about that picture going round of a maid carrying an NSman's backpack for him as he presumably heads back to his camp, I am reminded of my "brief stint" as a supposed bag carrier.

Many years ago, soon after I joined an organisation, I was told to accompany the director to a conference in Wellington, New Zealand.

"Ah, you are the bag carrier," an old hand told me. Having worked mostly in jeans-are-okay setups until then, I was clueless about what that meant but made a note of it.

For sure, after meeting my director at Changi Airport (his bags were already checked in), I duly settled into cattle class aboard the plane and did not see him again until we landed in Wellington. People were there anyway to help him with his luggage and it was looking like I had no job as a bag carrier! 

We sat together during the conference sessions and he was busy taking notes. I didn't do much of that since the issues covered were stuff I was familiar with and, anyway, no new insights were being offered by the speakers. About the only chance I had of being helpful was to answer some questions he had about some points made by the presenters.

As for meetings with officials, again, there were people fussing about and making the arrangements, so I had little to do in that area too.

One evening, there was no dinner appointment scheduled for us -- ie, free time! -- so I took the opportunity to wander along the streets of what really is a small town. I saw an eatery that sold murtabak. A change from the dreary conference meals! So I asked for a takeaway order which, when ready, I hurried to my hotel room to feast on.

Back at the hotel, sitting in the lobby was my director. The aroma of my murtabak was unmistakable (if you are Singaporean, that is) and he inquired what was the packet in my plastic bag.

I was excited about my find and eagerly told him, yes, he can get murtabak just a short distance away from the hotel. Then I went up to my room to eat my dinner. I was that gondu!

So, nowadays, whenever I retell this story to family (and some friends). they "roll their eyes and sigh" and teasingly tell me what a fool I was! (My then director is now an even bigger shot).

But what would I have done if I could turn back the clock? Exactly what I did then. Guess I'm not cut out to be a bag carrier.