I was in high school when I first read "Veni, Vidi, Vici" on what I recall as a pack of cigarettes (no doubt, someone else's). I soon after learned its origin and meaning. I don't know why I thought of this distant memory when I opened up the computer to type out my thoughts on my recent trip to KL, but it came up nonetheless. So, for the purposes of this little recap, I shall change the meaning of this expression from, "I came, I saw, I conquered" to a more (in)appropriate, "I came, I saw, I sat on the toilet."
Man, I wish I had good things to say about my trip to KL, but I just don't. Not after this past weekend, and certainly not after having visited a city like Bangkok less than a month before. Flying into the airport, I was excited. I was excited about another stamp in the passport, excited about a little solo trip in a serviced apartment with a kick ass bed, and most importantly, excited about getting up to the top of the iconic Petronas Towers. But soon, that excitement would turn to misery, boredom and frankly, just plain old depression.
So, let's start from the top. I got in on Thursday afternoon and was immediately greeted by Richard the cab driver. He hussled me in the doorway of the airport, and when I brushed him off, he persisted by telling me that he was a "real cab driver" with a "working meter." Anxious to get going, I finally accepted his offer and was delighted to see that we wouldn't be riding in one of the shabby red 80's Toyota Corollas (or similar, but in every way just as shitty as the shittiest type of cabs I've ever been in), but rather, a sweet blue van, complete with shiny blue plastic floormats and three, count them, THREE DVD screens. I jumped into the back bench seat, kicked that sucker all the way back, and luxuriated into my new surroundings with "Superman: Man of Steel" playing in the background. For the one hour ride in, things were going great. Never mind that a mini monsoon moved in on us and at one point I thought we might hydroplane to our deaths (and did we bother to put on our seat belts? Of course not because we're both Buddhists...well, one of us is and the other just pretends to be). Anyway, we made it through, and as we traveled the countryside with friendly Richard giving me the 411 on everything Malaysia, I thought that this was going to be one kick-ass trip.
I got to the hotel and went to check in. There was virtually no lobby, just two ladies at a desk. They were busy with others but saw me and told me to take a seat. I sat down, and immediately after, a Muslim family tried to make their move. They KNEW I was there before them, but they tried to sidle up to the counter and move in. As I sat there glaring at them, I told myself that if the lady helped them next, she'd be getting it from me (which, on a side note, is a funny part of my new identity here...I used to yell and scream and throw tantrums regularly in my 20s for all sorts of ridiculous things, but hadn't really done this anymore until moving to India...and I realize how I've missed it so much!). Being the conscientious professional she was, she told them I was next and put off their repeated insistence of being helped next. I gave all three of them (mom, dad, grown up daughter) some more glares, a serious head shaking, and finally a smug look of "Ha ha, I'm going first" superiority (like you might give someone if you were, say, bumped to first class because you have 110,000 miles on United credit cards because you charge everything under the sun). See ya, suckers!
At the desk, I quickly reinforced her professionalism with a sincere compliment, and then proceeded to ask for an upgrade. To my delight, she obliged. I was to be staying on the 16th floor (instead of the lowly 10th floor, which, in the end, was not even remotely close to the 30th floor I was hoping for), and I was pretty damned pleased. I got up into the room, spread out my shit, tested out the bed, and then poured myself an afternoon Jameson for the quick trip up to the (disappointing) infinity pool and really nice gym (that I had convinced myself I was going to use...so much so that I even brought workout gear). I came back down, summoned the bellhop to bring me a giant BOWL full of ice, and poured myself another drink. Suddenly, I realized that I hadn't adjusted the time on my phone, and after doing so, I realized it was time to start getting ready for my first night out. I plugged my phone into the docking station, blasted some hip hop, did some embarrassing "I think I'm-kind-of-drunk-already dance moves," took a shower, and headed out.
My first stop had been planned WELL in advance. It would be a trip to "The Whiskey Bar," which was conveniently connected to "The Steak House" (clearly some marketing genius there). I posted up at the bar, ordered myself a fine whiskey flight, and then a Guinness (or maybe it was two?) and after, headed into the restaurant for dinner. I must confess, it was at this point that things start getting fuzzy. Good thing I had pictures of my dinner that I could look at later the next day to help me recall what I had undoubtedly devoured. From there, I went back to the whiskey side of the establishment, had another drink, and then went home for my early morning walking tour.
I woke up and quickly realized I had overslept, but I didn't care. I poured myself some "hair of the dog" and made some Thanksgiving phone calls. Several of them, in fact. Maybe had another couple of drinks while I was at it (I was really feeling the Thanksgiving spirit, and I figured I had lots to be thankful for, and since I had no family or friends around, my old pal John and I celebrated the day). After my series of drunk dials, I went out on the town for lunch and perhaps a couple of Guinnesses and an Irish coffee to try to regain some semblance of composure, but instead went back to the hotel room and passed out. I woke up just in time to start getting ready for dinner out on the town where this time, I'd be hitting up a "Mexican restaurant." I was in prime form, trying to speak Spanish with the poor waitresses, buying laser pointers from the guy on the street (TWO of them, mind you), and just being a real fun person. After dinner (which consisted of chicken nachos and duck chimichangas...but back to that later), I stopped in next door to the hookah bar, where I proceeded to take up prime real estate while having another couple of Guinnesses and a hookah all to myself. Game over. This is where things spiral down, down, down...
I wake up again, and I feel like DEATH. I check my phone only to realize that I had, in my nice-guy condition from the night before, rescheduled my walking tour to Saturday morning. Not wanting to stiff them on the $50, and because at this point I thought I was just wickedly hungover, I decided that the best punishment was to force myself out into the world where I could atone for my bad decision-making and overzealousness from the past 36 hours. I take the cab ride there, thinking the entire time that this is just another really bad choice, and get to the place. Totally lost, I call them and the lady comes down to get me. Once inside, I take a look at all the other annoying, overly excited tourists, and immediately regret my decision. However, I paid for my reservation and took a seat on the chair in the waiting room in absolute silence. I didn't look at anybody, didn't smile at anybody, I basically just hated all of them because they weren't hungover, and therefore, couldn't understand me. 9:00 finally came, and our guide, this dorky, pudgy Malaysian guy named Sean, came to get us. I disliked him immediately. He started talking our faces off, and that combined with an intense wave of nausea and lightheadedness, made me wonder how I'd EVER make it through the next four hours. But I had to keep pressing on.
Much to my dismay, our first "stop" happened to be immediately downstairs at some local restaurant that wasn't serving ANYTHING I liked. I sat there and pretended to enjoy my food, and at one point had a burst of positive energy, asking such things of my table mates as, "So, what brings you to Malaysia?" "Where are you guys from?" "How long are you here?" and all of that annoying bullshit. We quickly found out that my living situation was far more fascinating, so I became the center of attention, and I immediately regretted ever even opening my mouth. As we finished up what seemed like the longest meal ever, we got up and finally started moving. Keeping moving was what was going to get me through my day, so I was excited to get going. And then, DUMB ASS SEAN, stops about 50 feet later and goes on the most long-winded, bullshit story about God-knows-what that I've ever heard. I pretended like I cared for about five minutes, but when it became apparent that we weren't going anywhere, I not-so-subtly started wandering away from the group. 10 feet at first to check out some artwork in a stall. Nothing. About 25 feet further to check out the farthest stall. Still oblivious. Finally, probably 100 feet away and straight into a full on market for 10 MINUTES. Came back and he was STILL talking. And the worst part? People were actually looking interested, which caused him to talk even more! After what seemed like an eternity, we finally got going again, with me somehow leading the group partly because I was trying to move aggressively in the hopes that he'd pick up the pace but also party because I just hated everyone so much at this point. I mean, I really hated everyone, but especially Sean. Didn't he understand that this was a "walking tour" and not a "Sean talks the ENTIRE time tour?!"
So we're walking and he tells us that we're first going to visit KL's oldest Buddhist temple. Cool. Excellent. Can't wait. Then we turn the corner and we're there. And then Sean, in typical Sean fashion, proceeds to open his fool mouth for his next lecture. At this point, I started realizing I needed to make a break for it, but I wasn't quite sure how. Then I started telling myself, "Ben, you're a grown ass man (at least biologically). You do NOT have to stay here like a prisoner. Just leave!" But then I felt bad, like it would cause Sean or others to realize just how shitty of a guide he truly was. And then I didn't care, so I started doing my little "sneak away & then return technique," which clearly did not take off. I tried wandering away about three times, each time for longer and farther, and finally, after about 20 minutes, I just did it. I just walked away and didn't turn back. I started to feel bad, but then I started justifying it that it wasn't MY shitty attitude, but rather Sean's total and complete incompetence. I threw out an email to the company saying I wasn't feeling good (which was true) and that I needed to leave.
From there, I flagged down the shittiest looking cab ever and asked the dude, "Do you know Fraser Place?" Of course he didn't. Slammed shut that door. Next shitty cab, asked the same question. This guy, after me pulling up the map and repeatedly telling him the street name, finally tells me he can get me there. We start on our way, and with each passing minute (and each grumble of the stomach), I'm realizing that this is more than a hangover. FAR more. I'm feeling absolutely AWFUL at this point and I cannot WAIT to get back to the hotel to lie down. Finally, after about 15 minutes, I realize that we're driving in circles. CIRCLES. I say, "Dude, do you know where you're going?!" He says he does, but after seriously the third circle past the same restaurant and a horribly inappropriate u-turn, I'm done. I'm pissed, and I'm sicker than hell. He finally gets sick of my bitching, pulls over, and tells me to get out (which I not-so-happily do). I start walking and come to find out I'm now nearly two kilometers from the God damned hotel. WAY too far to walk. I ask a few more cabbies, each of whom acts like I'm speaking a foreign language when I ask about Fraser Place (wait...). But seriously, now I'm pissed at myself (and Fraser Place) for it not having a more well-known name. Why in the HELL didn't I stay at the Mandarin Oriental?! Eventually, I find a cab who's more than willing to rip me off and take me to Fraser Place for an astronomical sum. But I didn't care, I just wanted home.
I get back up to the room (and at this point I'm glad that I didn't have to go any higher than the 16th floor), and throw myself onto the bed in a pitiful heap. Now I was completely miserable, and the blues started setting in. Why in the hell did I have to go all the way to Malaysia when I could've stuck around with friends and gone someplace local? I missed my old friends, I missed my new friends, and especially just past Thanksgiving, I missed my family. It all just sucked.
Then, after about an hour of self-loathing, the diarrhea sets in and I realize I need to do something about this situation before bad things happen to my mattress and sheets. Furthermore, I had no water in the hotel room, so something was going to have to give. So I got out of bed and trudged down to the KLCC Mall (SUPER fancy, located in the bottom of the Petronas Towers). There, I grabbed my tickets for that night's tour, found a pharmacy, and pathetically described my medical woes to the woman behind the counter. She gave me Immodium and charcoal tablets. Charcoal tablets. I didn't give a shit at that point, so I threw them all down the gullet. As I walked back out of the mall, I made a split-second decision to NOT go back to the hotel, but rather, go to Chinatown and see if some knockoff designer clothing/sunglasses/watches (as if I need another watch) would make me feel better. It did not. I didn't even stick around long enough to see what they had. Deciding that I needed to get something into my stomach, something that had some sort of health/sanitation standards, I opted for the "safe bet..." McDonalds. I scarfed down a McChicken and small fries, and realizing that this might have just made a bad situation even worse, jumped into another rip-off-mobile and headed to what I believe is the universe's largest mall. It was 10 stories tall (literally), had a freaking ROLLER COASTER in it (which I never did actually see, just heard the screams from), and was just all-around madness. After wandering around pitifully (having to sit down occasionally to keep from passing out), I got into another shitty Malaysian cab (this one took second place, and the guy was even nice enough to warn me beforehand that he was going to gently violate me for the cab fare because there was "lots of traffic") and we were off to the hotel again.
This time, I slept for about an hour before waking up to make the walk to the towers. At this point, I was feeling the worst I had all day, but I felt like I had no choice in the matter. THIS moment was why I had come...I couldn't let it pass me by. I walked the 15 minutes to the towers and, even though I was the first one there, just couldn't bring myself to start the line. Nope. I chose the comfy seat on the stairs. I watched them as disgust as they lined up, and telling myself that I didn't care if I was the last person on EARTH to get into that line, I sat there until the bitter end. When I finally did get into line, I was annoyed just as I suspected I'd be, but now feeling even worse (which I didn't think was even imaginable). I didn't know how I'd make it through the next hour. As we entered into the TSA-style annoyingly over-secure security checkpoint, this dude probably in his 20's tried to make a crack at how ridiculous the process was, and where a jovial Ben would've jumped into this bitch session gladly, I just ignored him completely. So rude, and I just didn't give a damn. I felt kind of bad, but then again, I had bigger issues. Such as: where is the closest bathroom "in case of emergency?"
Then, we get to the elevator, and in front of us, there's this hologram-thingy made from a smoke machine and lasers. It featured a lady giving safety briefings much like you'd find on a plane, but this was WAY more annoying because this asshole, overly energetic teenager and his fool dad thought it was SO funny to blow on the smoke and have her image get distorted. And then the dad did basically the most annoying thing I've ever seen, which was to walk though it and then laugh at how clever he thought he was. I just wanted to kick them both in the balls. And then, when I think people can't possibly be any more annoying, we pack ourselves into the elevator like some damned sardines, and as it goes up, fake lighting and cityscape appear on the sides (because it's night time). Out of nowhere, this old Chinese lady starts doing the stupidest fake commentary, "Welcome to KL. On the left, you'll see downtown KL." You would've thought she was doing the "sweaty balls/underwear" Louis CK routine people were laughing so hard. Everybody, that is, except for me. I was not amused one bit.
We stopped at the skybridge (thank God because I was ready to put the Chinese lady in a headlock), and there, I spent the next 15 minutes looking for a crack/opening where I could throw my body out of the 170 meter height. They must have seen me coming, because it was totally secure. From there, back into the elevator, where annoying lady continued her laugh-fest all the way up to the 87th floor, where we got out and I basically just found a seat, buried my face in my hands. and prayed for death.
"It was there at my highest height that I was at my lowest low"- Ben Knight, Petronas Towers, 11/30/2013 (I made that up the other day...isn't it creative?)
I got home and went straight to sleep, and the next morning, feeling a solid 50%, I got back in Richard's rip off mobile, headed to the airport, and flew home.
And that, ladies and gents, is the tale of "Veni, Vidi, Vici" AKA "I came, I saw, I sat on the toilet."
By the way- It was the duck chimichangas...of this I'm sure.
Ben
Man, I wish I had good things to say about my trip to KL, but I just don't. Not after this past weekend, and certainly not after having visited a city like Bangkok less than a month before. Flying into the airport, I was excited. I was excited about another stamp in the passport, excited about a little solo trip in a serviced apartment with a kick ass bed, and most importantly, excited about getting up to the top of the iconic Petronas Towers. But soon, that excitement would turn to misery, boredom and frankly, just plain old depression.
So, let's start from the top. I got in on Thursday afternoon and was immediately greeted by Richard the cab driver. He hussled me in the doorway of the airport, and when I brushed him off, he persisted by telling me that he was a "real cab driver" with a "working meter." Anxious to get going, I finally accepted his offer and was delighted to see that we wouldn't be riding in one of the shabby red 80's Toyota Corollas (or similar, but in every way just as shitty as the shittiest type of cabs I've ever been in), but rather, a sweet blue van, complete with shiny blue plastic floormats and three, count them, THREE DVD screens. I jumped into the back bench seat, kicked that sucker all the way back, and luxuriated into my new surroundings with "Superman: Man of Steel" playing in the background. For the one hour ride in, things were going great. Never mind that a mini monsoon moved in on us and at one point I thought we might hydroplane to our deaths (and did we bother to put on our seat belts? Of course not because we're both Buddhists...well, one of us is and the other just pretends to be). Anyway, we made it through, and as we traveled the countryside with friendly Richard giving me the 411 on everything Malaysia, I thought that this was going to be one kick-ass trip.
I got to the hotel and went to check in. There was virtually no lobby, just two ladies at a desk. They were busy with others but saw me and told me to take a seat. I sat down, and immediately after, a Muslim family tried to make their move. They KNEW I was there before them, but they tried to sidle up to the counter and move in. As I sat there glaring at them, I told myself that if the lady helped them next, she'd be getting it from me (which, on a side note, is a funny part of my new identity here...I used to yell and scream and throw tantrums regularly in my 20s for all sorts of ridiculous things, but hadn't really done this anymore until moving to India...and I realize how I've missed it so much!). Being the conscientious professional she was, she told them I was next and put off their repeated insistence of being helped next. I gave all three of them (mom, dad, grown up daughter) some more glares, a serious head shaking, and finally a smug look of "Ha ha, I'm going first" superiority (like you might give someone if you were, say, bumped to first class because you have 110,000 miles on United credit cards because you charge everything under the sun). See ya, suckers!
At the desk, I quickly reinforced her professionalism with a sincere compliment, and then proceeded to ask for an upgrade. To my delight, she obliged. I was to be staying on the 16th floor (instead of the lowly 10th floor, which, in the end, was not even remotely close to the 30th floor I was hoping for), and I was pretty damned pleased. I got up into the room, spread out my shit, tested out the bed, and then poured myself an afternoon Jameson for the quick trip up to the (disappointing) infinity pool and really nice gym (that I had convinced myself I was going to use...so much so that I even brought workout gear). I came back down, summoned the bellhop to bring me a giant BOWL full of ice, and poured myself another drink. Suddenly, I realized that I hadn't adjusted the time on my phone, and after doing so, I realized it was time to start getting ready for my first night out. I plugged my phone into the docking station, blasted some hip hop, did some embarrassing "I think I'm-kind-of-drunk-already dance moves," took a shower, and headed out.
My first stop had been planned WELL in advance. It would be a trip to "The Whiskey Bar," which was conveniently connected to "The Steak House" (clearly some marketing genius there). I posted up at the bar, ordered myself a fine whiskey flight, and then a Guinness (or maybe it was two?) and after, headed into the restaurant for dinner. I must confess, it was at this point that things start getting fuzzy. Good thing I had pictures of my dinner that I could look at later the next day to help me recall what I had undoubtedly devoured. From there, I went back to the whiskey side of the establishment, had another drink, and then went home for my early morning walking tour.
I woke up and quickly realized I had overslept, but I didn't care. I poured myself some "hair of the dog" and made some Thanksgiving phone calls. Several of them, in fact. Maybe had another couple of drinks while I was at it (I was really feeling the Thanksgiving spirit, and I figured I had lots to be thankful for, and since I had no family or friends around, my old pal John and I celebrated the day). After my series of drunk dials, I went out on the town for lunch and perhaps a couple of Guinnesses and an Irish coffee to try to regain some semblance of composure, but instead went back to the hotel room and passed out. I woke up just in time to start getting ready for dinner out on the town where this time, I'd be hitting up a "Mexican restaurant." I was in prime form, trying to speak Spanish with the poor waitresses, buying laser pointers from the guy on the street (TWO of them, mind you), and just being a real fun person. After dinner (which consisted of chicken nachos and duck chimichangas...but back to that later), I stopped in next door to the hookah bar, where I proceeded to take up prime real estate while having another couple of Guinnesses and a hookah all to myself. Game over. This is where things spiral down, down, down...
I wake up again, and I feel like DEATH. I check my phone only to realize that I had, in my nice-guy condition from the night before, rescheduled my walking tour to Saturday morning. Not wanting to stiff them on the $50, and because at this point I thought I was just wickedly hungover, I decided that the best punishment was to force myself out into the world where I could atone for my bad decision-making and overzealousness from the past 36 hours. I take the cab ride there, thinking the entire time that this is just another really bad choice, and get to the place. Totally lost, I call them and the lady comes down to get me. Once inside, I take a look at all the other annoying, overly excited tourists, and immediately regret my decision. However, I paid for my reservation and took a seat on the chair in the waiting room in absolute silence. I didn't look at anybody, didn't smile at anybody, I basically just hated all of them because they weren't hungover, and therefore, couldn't understand me. 9:00 finally came, and our guide, this dorky, pudgy Malaysian guy named Sean, came to get us. I disliked him immediately. He started talking our faces off, and that combined with an intense wave of nausea and lightheadedness, made me wonder how I'd EVER make it through the next four hours. But I had to keep pressing on.
Much to my dismay, our first "stop" happened to be immediately downstairs at some local restaurant that wasn't serving ANYTHING I liked. I sat there and pretended to enjoy my food, and at one point had a burst of positive energy, asking such things of my table mates as, "So, what brings you to Malaysia?" "Where are you guys from?" "How long are you here?" and all of that annoying bullshit. We quickly found out that my living situation was far more fascinating, so I became the center of attention, and I immediately regretted ever even opening my mouth. As we finished up what seemed like the longest meal ever, we got up and finally started moving. Keeping moving was what was going to get me through my day, so I was excited to get going. And then, DUMB ASS SEAN, stops about 50 feet later and goes on the most long-winded, bullshit story about God-knows-what that I've ever heard. I pretended like I cared for about five minutes, but when it became apparent that we weren't going anywhere, I not-so-subtly started wandering away from the group. 10 feet at first to check out some artwork in a stall. Nothing. About 25 feet further to check out the farthest stall. Still oblivious. Finally, probably 100 feet away and straight into a full on market for 10 MINUTES. Came back and he was STILL talking. And the worst part? People were actually looking interested, which caused him to talk even more! After what seemed like an eternity, we finally got going again, with me somehow leading the group partly because I was trying to move aggressively in the hopes that he'd pick up the pace but also party because I just hated everyone so much at this point. I mean, I really hated everyone, but especially Sean. Didn't he understand that this was a "walking tour" and not a "Sean talks the ENTIRE time tour?!"
So we're walking and he tells us that we're first going to visit KL's oldest Buddhist temple. Cool. Excellent. Can't wait. Then we turn the corner and we're there. And then Sean, in typical Sean fashion, proceeds to open his fool mouth for his next lecture. At this point, I started realizing I needed to make a break for it, but I wasn't quite sure how. Then I started telling myself, "Ben, you're a grown ass man (at least biologically). You do NOT have to stay here like a prisoner. Just leave!" But then I felt bad, like it would cause Sean or others to realize just how shitty of a guide he truly was. And then I didn't care, so I started doing my little "sneak away & then return technique," which clearly did not take off. I tried wandering away about three times, each time for longer and farther, and finally, after about 20 minutes, I just did it. I just walked away and didn't turn back. I started to feel bad, but then I started justifying it that it wasn't MY shitty attitude, but rather Sean's total and complete incompetence. I threw out an email to the company saying I wasn't feeling good (which was true) and that I needed to leave.
From there, I flagged down the shittiest looking cab ever and asked the dude, "Do you know Fraser Place?" Of course he didn't. Slammed shut that door. Next shitty cab, asked the same question. This guy, after me pulling up the map and repeatedly telling him the street name, finally tells me he can get me there. We start on our way, and with each passing minute (and each grumble of the stomach), I'm realizing that this is more than a hangover. FAR more. I'm feeling absolutely AWFUL at this point and I cannot WAIT to get back to the hotel to lie down. Finally, after about 15 minutes, I realize that we're driving in circles. CIRCLES. I say, "Dude, do you know where you're going?!" He says he does, but after seriously the third circle past the same restaurant and a horribly inappropriate u-turn, I'm done. I'm pissed, and I'm sicker than hell. He finally gets sick of my bitching, pulls over, and tells me to get out (which I not-so-happily do). I start walking and come to find out I'm now nearly two kilometers from the God damned hotel. WAY too far to walk. I ask a few more cabbies, each of whom acts like I'm speaking a foreign language when I ask about Fraser Place (wait...). But seriously, now I'm pissed at myself (and Fraser Place) for it not having a more well-known name. Why in the HELL didn't I stay at the Mandarin Oriental?! Eventually, I find a cab who's more than willing to rip me off and take me to Fraser Place for an astronomical sum. But I didn't care, I just wanted home.
I get back up to the room (and at this point I'm glad that I didn't have to go any higher than the 16th floor), and throw myself onto the bed in a pitiful heap. Now I was completely miserable, and the blues started setting in. Why in the hell did I have to go all the way to Malaysia when I could've stuck around with friends and gone someplace local? I missed my old friends, I missed my new friends, and especially just past Thanksgiving, I missed my family. It all just sucked.
Then, after about an hour of self-loathing, the diarrhea sets in and I realize I need to do something about this situation before bad things happen to my mattress and sheets. Furthermore, I had no water in the hotel room, so something was going to have to give. So I got out of bed and trudged down to the KLCC Mall (SUPER fancy, located in the bottom of the Petronas Towers). There, I grabbed my tickets for that night's tour, found a pharmacy, and pathetically described my medical woes to the woman behind the counter. She gave me Immodium and charcoal tablets. Charcoal tablets. I didn't give a shit at that point, so I threw them all down the gullet. As I walked back out of the mall, I made a split-second decision to NOT go back to the hotel, but rather, go to Chinatown and see if some knockoff designer clothing/sunglasses/watches (as if I need another watch) would make me feel better. It did not. I didn't even stick around long enough to see what they had. Deciding that I needed to get something into my stomach, something that had some sort of health/sanitation standards, I opted for the "safe bet..." McDonalds. I scarfed down a McChicken and small fries, and realizing that this might have just made a bad situation even worse, jumped into another rip-off-mobile and headed to what I believe is the universe's largest mall. It was 10 stories tall (literally), had a freaking ROLLER COASTER in it (which I never did actually see, just heard the screams from), and was just all-around madness. After wandering around pitifully (having to sit down occasionally to keep from passing out), I got into another shitty Malaysian cab (this one took second place, and the guy was even nice enough to warn me beforehand that he was going to gently violate me for the cab fare because there was "lots of traffic") and we were off to the hotel again.
This time, I slept for about an hour before waking up to make the walk to the towers. At this point, I was feeling the worst I had all day, but I felt like I had no choice in the matter. THIS moment was why I had come...I couldn't let it pass me by. I walked the 15 minutes to the towers and, even though I was the first one there, just couldn't bring myself to start the line. Nope. I chose the comfy seat on the stairs. I watched them as disgust as they lined up, and telling myself that I didn't care if I was the last person on EARTH to get into that line, I sat there until the bitter end. When I finally did get into line, I was annoyed just as I suspected I'd be, but now feeling even worse (which I didn't think was even imaginable). I didn't know how I'd make it through the next hour. As we entered into the TSA-style annoyingly over-secure security checkpoint, this dude probably in his 20's tried to make a crack at how ridiculous the process was, and where a jovial Ben would've jumped into this bitch session gladly, I just ignored him completely. So rude, and I just didn't give a damn. I felt kind of bad, but then again, I had bigger issues. Such as: where is the closest bathroom "in case of emergency?"
Then, we get to the elevator, and in front of us, there's this hologram-thingy made from a smoke machine and lasers. It featured a lady giving safety briefings much like you'd find on a plane, but this was WAY more annoying because this asshole, overly energetic teenager and his fool dad thought it was SO funny to blow on the smoke and have her image get distorted. And then the dad did basically the most annoying thing I've ever seen, which was to walk though it and then laugh at how clever he thought he was. I just wanted to kick them both in the balls. And then, when I think people can't possibly be any more annoying, we pack ourselves into the elevator like some damned sardines, and as it goes up, fake lighting and cityscape appear on the sides (because it's night time). Out of nowhere, this old Chinese lady starts doing the stupidest fake commentary, "Welcome to KL. On the left, you'll see downtown KL." You would've thought she was doing the "sweaty balls/underwear" Louis CK routine people were laughing so hard. Everybody, that is, except for me. I was not amused one bit.
We stopped at the skybridge (thank God because I was ready to put the Chinese lady in a headlock), and there, I spent the next 15 minutes looking for a crack/opening where I could throw my body out of the 170 meter height. They must have seen me coming, because it was totally secure. From there, back into the elevator, where annoying lady continued her laugh-fest all the way up to the 87th floor, where we got out and I basically just found a seat, buried my face in my hands. and prayed for death.
"It was there at my highest height that I was at my lowest low"- Ben Knight, Petronas Towers, 11/30/2013 (I made that up the other day...isn't it creative?)
I got home and went straight to sleep, and the next morning, feeling a solid 50%, I got back in Richard's rip off mobile, headed to the airport, and flew home.
And that, ladies and gents, is the tale of "Veni, Vidi, Vici" AKA "I came, I saw, I sat on the toilet."
By the way- It was the duck chimichangas...of this I'm sure.
Ben
