My ride, I love you

Mork

Chapter 2: Mork

"Hey, yo! Mork, when does your uncle's motorcycle garage close?"

"Uh... eight in the evening. Why, bro? You need some help?"

"My taillight is frickin' busted. It blinked and just went dead."

"Ow, you wanna let me take a look first?"

"No shit, ya can fix this kinda thing?"

"Heck, bro, I have an electronics cert. I can fix any electronic equipment. Come, let me check that."

I stand up from the bench and walk to my motorcycle to pick up a mini tool kit I always keep in the storage under my seat, before making a beeline to Fueng's motorcycle. Older than me, he is a co-worker at this motorcycle taxi station on a corner where a side street emerges onto the main road. I sit down and swiftly unscrew the taillight cover.

"No shit, ya look skillful. That's so pro."

Fueng utters compliments from beside me while I loosen the faulty light bulb from its socket. I hold it up to look inside and see if the filament is broken. It is the first and easiest thing on the list to check when a light bulb fails.

"Bro, I already told ya, I got Electronics Tech. Voc. Cert. This kind of thing is a piece of cake."

The filament is intact, despite how old the bulb looks, and I am sure it's not the filament that fails. I touch my screwdriver which is also an electrical tester to the power contact tab inside of the taillight bulb socket to check for electricity.

"Then why the hell are you a motorcycle taxi driver? You can frickin' open a repair shop, or be a factory handyman."

The diode on my screwdriver doesn't light up. I try again and get the same result. Then, the problem must lie in the inner wires or the power connector of the taillight socket. I put my screwdriver in its mini tool kit bag and turn towards Fueng.

"Factory jobs have low pay, I'm making more money as a taxi. I can't afford a shop either. I don't have that kind of deep pocket. Oh, and the thing with your motorcycle, it must be either the wires or the power connector. You better visit a garage. I don't have enough tools to repair this."

"Oh, guess I'll just go there now. Your uncle is always at his garage, right? I'll have him fix it for me."

He says and immediately gets up to fetch his helmet.

"Wait, what... What about the queue? It's now your turn, too. Are you calling it a day already?"

It's just 4 p.m. and we're supposed to drive until 9 p.m. And in the evening when people are leaving work is when a motorcycle taxi station gets the most bustling business. It is also the hour which determines whether we earn money - enough money for a living - or not.

"I don't wanna drive without my taillight after dark. Besides, I have to pick up Miss Ai today and not gonna risk it."

The last part of Fueng's statement sounds like a mixture between bragging and embarrassment. Dude, pick one, would you? Phooey! I huff through my nose in a jesting grievance. Ever since he landed himself a girlfriend, he grabs every single chance to brag about her. Just show him the slightest opening, and he will be at it.

But what can I say. He's so in love.

"A man having love is such an eyesore!"

I make a remark but can't help smiling at him.

"Yo, it's called "in love" in English."

This dude exhibits the English phrase with such precise pronunciation, I want to just get up and give his motorcycle a gentle push with my foot. I wonder if he will exclaim in English with equally good accent when he's in pain.