Revenge Is A Dish Best Served Cold

It was just another misty morning when I headed towards the stadium's car park. The overnight rain swelled the river's waters to the point of threatening to burst out of its confined course path and annihilating humankind.

I paid for my ticket and piloted my Kancil deftly into a designated parking lot, noticing along the way many did not bother to place their car correctly into their own space - many had their vehicles overlapping into others' yellow dividing lines. As usual. I tell myself that there is already no more hope for humankind.

While I was busy attaching the 20th security lock to my car's steering wheel, I felt a slight nudge coming from the rear left side of my car. I turned and surely enough there was this car which just happened to have scratched my Kancil slightly when negotiating into the parking lot on my left. Another case of asshole driver syndrome.

The driver was a young man my age, only not as good-looking :P. Clearly he was mortified. I was pissed, and so I stopped attaching the lock, got out of my car and went to inspect the damage. Truthfully it wasn't anything bad - maybe just a scratch like one of those any pissed-off cat would've given you when you tried to poke its anus with a stick.

He quickly got out too, not to apologise but rather to lock the door and pull up the windshield wipers into a standing position. All this while I was staring at him. I'm truly a compassionate fellow. I mean, I don't immediately scream or curse but I give people a chance. Ask any of my friends.

Obviously either he was too blur or too rude to respond. I stared at him. He stared back with a blank expression. This whole affair probably lasted about fifteen seconds yet there was still no sign of him wanting to make his peace with me. He gave me another blank look on his face and just left for work. I got even more pissed. Fine, no apology, no face giving stance from me ("giving face" is a Chinese phrase for your information).

I went back to finish securing up my car, gathered my belongings and went over to the front passenger side of my Kancil. His car was a Honda Civic from the 80s era. Classic but modified. Beautifully maintained with a nice coat of color. It would be too bad if somehow a scratch marred it.

With deadly precision and blind fury, my car keys registered a deep, beautiful scratch into the Honda's bodypaint, done lovingly with my hands. During this period, it is advisable to consult the Force to guide your hands in order to create breathtaking deep scratch artwork. If you know me, I tell you that I am supposedly incapable of violent actions. If you really, really know me, I can perform violent things if the situation calls and allows for me to do it. After feeling satisfied, I went back into my car, reparked it far, far away, and left for work. Morale at work clocked in an amazing increase of 50% today.

Of course I did have bouts of regret moments later wondering why didn't I register that deep gash into the passenger side of his car. At least that would give him a surprise a few days later when he finally realizes it. Nevertheless, by late noon it started to rain as usual, and I took it as a good sign, knowing that the damp rain will temporarily cover up my contributed art. Eventually the gash will be visible to him, and he will be visibly upset, but that will only materialize when the weather turns drier.

Til then, cheers mate! Good luck on finding that scratch on your stupid car.