Moving to the moon.
They were wrapped around each other so tightly, it brought to mind RichandAmy from the Zits comics. Probably whispering sweet nothings, they strolled leisurely, heading towards the escalators, oblivious to the crowd that normally plagues the city’s busiest shopping malls on a weekend.
They were probably still thinking about last night’s romantic candlelit dinner at Sri Pandi and wondering where they would go next.
Then they got on the escalator.
I was right behind them.
The thing about escalators is, these machines cannot stop as and when you like it. It is almost like a dance – you have to adapt to its moves, time it well to know precisely when to get on, and when to get off – or risk doing somersaults in thin air or falling splat on your face in a public area no less.
I know escalators are harmless, but as they chug along slowly, I always fear that I would get sucked underneath whenever the briefest of all rides end.
There are some people who, upon reaching the next floor, pause right after they got off the escalator, thinking with pursed lips, “Now what should I do first – trim my fingernails, or blow dry my hair?... I better go get a bite first – oh, shoot, Delifrance is at lower ground…”
Then there are those who suddenly realise that their hands were holding air. “Jason, where are you?” Alarmed. “Here, dad,” comes the squeaky reply somewhere from behind.
Naturally, just as they got off the escalator, our local RichandAmy had to re-adjust themselves before moving along oh so slowly and melting into the crowd.
Before that, I never knew that I could stand tip-toe on the edge of the landing of the escalator.
Some people. If I ever see them again…!!
”... our schedule. Then again, we can save the river cruise for, er, next time—”
“What next time?! Get someone else to go with you the next time!”
Yeah, well. I mean, I do not know of anyone else who drags their parents along to another country for a rock concert... (looks at ceiling)