Asia- a tourist’s fantasy. Asia offers its travelers with an abundant range of different sights, tastes, and cultures. For many vacationers, it's paradise! However, modeling there is a different story. Singapore is one of the more reputable and prestigious markets for modeling. Compared to Hong Kong, the pay is better, the commercials and campaigns are bigger, and the apartments are a little more extravagant… meaning four models aren't stuffed into bunk beds in one room. The island of Singapore is only about an hour and a half wide if you're driving by car. On the map, it’s nothing more than a dot. Despite its size, it stands as a new and upcoming major city. The streets are usually crawling with photographers, stylists, magazine editors, bookers, make-up artists, and agents. There’s a lot of pressure for models. We are expected to be dressed like we just stepped out of a magazine and we have to act like superstars. No un-glamorous outbursts, we can't be caught eating unhealthy, and absolutely no sweatpants.
Even in the agency apartments there’s just no relaxing. One time I came home wearing sweatpants and a Judas Priest tee. My hair was in a rough wet bun and make-up was completely absent from my face. I had some old black boots that I had slipped into and a McDonald’s bag in hand. I only had 30 minutes to get to my next casting so of course being the procrastinator I am, I was in a rush. With a double cheeseburger dangling from my mouth, I fumbled the key into the door. As the door whipped open, guess who I see standing there? It’s my booker! The one booker I was incapable of impressing. I was a deer in the headlights. McDonalds is forbidden to all models. Leaving the house in sweatpants is a disgrace to the agency and being late for a casting is just unfathomable. The rest of the day was a complete disaster.
All I wanted was to just get away from all the expectations and pressure at least for one night. That's when I called my crazy South African friend, Dave. Dave is always up to no good and even wears a back-pack containing at least two bottles of hard liquor. His motto- “Eff it, eff it all”, which is exactly what I needed at the moment. He’s the most carefree person I’ve ever met so naturally I assumed he’d know the perfect remedy for my stress. We called up a few others and met at a place called Muddy Murphy’s.
As we approached Muddy's, the sweet smell of cigarettes and beer filled my nose. The clatter of glasses and the feint sound of laughter trickled into my ears. We went down the stairway to reach this hidden jewel of a place and a more familiar sound hit me; Led Zeppelin, “I Can’t Quit You Baby”. I closed my eyes and was suddenly transported to a different time, back to a time when Rock N’ Roll was king. I opened my eyes and all signs of Asia had disappeared.
Dave smiled and handed me a much needed cigarette. At the time I was a pretty heavy smoker. It’s the best defense in a crowded place too. People part like the Red Sea in fear of getting singed. We made our way to the table and we heard the music stop. My friends started to huddle like they were planning something against me. Dave then calls the waitress over and gives me a wink. I look back at the band setting up. I was skeptical at first until I heard the beat of the drum and a few strokes of the guitar. I know my music and I knew the band was obviously getting ready to play “Purple Haze” from the Jimi Hendrix Experience. A dark amber concoction was placed before me and we all rose our glasses. Among the loud music and the chatter we all looked at each other ginning ear to ear and yelled “Fuck it!”
The sweet tawny liquid pierced my lips and bit hard on my tongue. Energy ignited my bones. The warmth of the whisky danced down my spine and sparked a large smile across my face. I remember feeling a wave of serenity wash over me and all the stress that I had built up left my body instantaneously. That was the first time I had Jack and Coke. It’s the simplest drink yet it brings me the most joy and pleasure. I took another sip letting it linger in my mouth, and the cool liquid bathed my tongue in it's dark heavenly bliss. Dave of course then ruined the moment and slammed his fist on the table shouting “SKULLS!” It's a South African "tradition" from what I've been told. Whoever sees the bottom of their glass first wins! We all downed our drinks until each precious drop was consumed and from then on the rounds kept coming. Jack and Coke is more than a drink to me. It’s a time warp to happy times; times with my crazy drunken friends who didn't have a care in the world. As I drink it now the sound of my friends yelling and of course Led Zeppelin once again fills my ears. The stress is gone.
Rough Draft..
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