My million-dollar dream

Working earlier today with less people (but still enough to make you run about the place) gave me enough time to think about my football-themed caf? dream. I know it may cost me hundreds of thousands of ringgit, or maybe I’m just being over-ambitious. The following convo from an online buddy (fellow DS-er, sihumchai) when I talked to him the day before I started working, inspired me lots:

I. M. Supermaniam says:
No, if you think it’s possible, then it is.
I. M. Supermaniam says:
Everything’s about effort :)
I. M. Supermaniam says:
I made an effort to get a job.
I. M. Supermaniam says:
And now I’m happily working.

Maybe that’s why I still relented to continue working there, to get the experience of working and taste a little bit of the management of a caf?. We were quite free enough for the most part of the day (but still busy enough to cause you to stride everywhere) that I daydreamed on how my caf? would be. What food the caf? should have, drinks, staff members, attire, decor, etcetc.

Daniel and I got off at 5.40pm (we ran off without telling our supervisor since he was busy talking to the boss, while our other supervisor was going off at the same time as us as well), and I went back by Dan’s mum’s car. On reaching, I grabbed TheStar newspaper (haven’t been reading it for ages) and sighed complacently as I browsed through it. I slept for 2-3 hours as I was so goddamn tired.

Working at the caf? has resulted in me obtaining many bad Chinese phrases (from Daniel and the rest), the funniest of all (imo) was the usage of the number 77 - the double seven, ma chat. If you don’t know what I’m talking about you’re better off not knowing.

My PC has been infected by some crazy-ass virus that disabled my anti-virus, and whenever I tried visiting Housecall, the online virus scanner, my browser closes by itself.

This piece of shit has been forwarding e-mails via my Hotmail account, prompting many of my friends asking me why I’m sending them virii, or what those pictures that they couldn’t view were.

I suspect my dad, who opens every single e-mail he receives (scam, spam, etc), to be at fault.

All this busy lifestyle makes me appreciate my previously overtly-relaxing, meaningless life more.