Monopoly money

Yesterday, Matt, Justin and I went to Chinatown, the first page of “Highlights” in the Best of Singapore guidebook that I have. It was indeed impressive, although decidedly a tourist trap. Here, the tall buildings were filled with “antique” shops, galleries, restaurants, beauty parlors, and tailors while the sidewalks and streets were choked with vendors selling cheaper versions of everything being sold inside. There was also the occasional museum, a Hindu temple on Temple Street, and a Mosque on Mosque Street. We entertained ourselves by fake shopping, an activity I have mastered in the States – fake interest enough to engage the shopkeeper and talk hypothetically about a purchase, but to eventually leave with the money and not the junk.

Well. As it turns out, this time I lost. We entered a store selling Chinese-type clothing and souvenirs, where I was shown a black linen shirt with a dragon embroidered on the front, Chinese-looking buttons down the front, and a high mandarin collar. I didn’t think it was particularly attractive, it was way overpriced, and I couldn’t think of anyone for whom I could buy it that would like it. I tried to say no, I don't want it; no, it's the wrong size; no, I'll think about it; no, I'll come back later; no, it's too expensive - but the salesman was very pushy. I was saved initially because I had only $30 with me. Luckily (this is very embarrassing) they accepted credit cards.

(This is where I save a shred of dignity) I had tried to pay the fees for living in the dorms with my credit card earlier, and it had not worked. I thought this was still the case. So when I handed the man my Visa, I thought I was cleverly removing myself from what has quickly become for me a very awkward situation. I felt like I owed the man something, you see. He seemed so eager to sell me something, I didn't want to say no (stupid!). But apparently the street vendors keep their credit card machines in better order than the PGP finance department, because the transaction went through.

I felt embarrassed and enraged with myself for being so stupid until we went to lunch and were charged for the bowl of peanuts on the table, the tea, and some "complimentary" pastries that we didn't order (see below).

In the end, I paid $60 to learn not to feel bad about saying no, because it feels worse not to.

Here are pictures from our trip to Chinatown. I might put up some more in the next couple of days as I get them from other peoples' cameras.


The comics page of the Singapore Straits newspaper



The view stepping out of the MRT station.


$2 peanuts


The receipt - how could we argue?