Killer Instinct

One upon a time in a Penang village there was a small boy of just ten going on to eleven. He lived with his mum and two nonagenarians (grandparents). They were poor and of course badly in need of money – hey, who in the village, other than the sole richest landowner, didn’t?

His dad had passed away leaving them in severe financial disadvantage, but fortunately with their own attap roof over their worried heads.

Mind you, the laddie was still too small to hold grave concerns over their financially perilous circumstances. His mum was already in her mid 60’s so hardly likely to be a viable member of the workforce. The bottom-line was that they were in financial straits – certainly at the bottom of the social line (pun not intended).

But mum was a damn good cook, able to conjure up magnificent nyonya and traditional Chinese dishes. So when August of one particular year arrived for the village to hold the annual Hungry Ghosts festival and immediately after that, the celebration of the birthday of Tua Peh Kong, the local deity, she thought that she would sell ‘oh-knua-moi’ (dried oyster rice porridge) during the religious events to earn some badly needed money.

She was a modest woman and not given to wild and extraordinary expectations – a few ringgit was all she was hoping for. That was just putting it mildly as in reality she was a very timid, passive and underconfident housewife who was driven into a state of pitiful inferiority complex after her husband-provider passed away.

So the religious festival arrived and she rustled up a big pot of the ‘oh-knua moi’ complete with ‘eu-char-kueh’ (yau-char-kuai or deep fried dough ‘sticks’), 'eu ch'ang' (fried chopped shallots), and fresh chopped spring onions, 'suan t'au eu' (oil flavoured with sautéed garlic), basically the works, in the way her husband liked and expected when he was alive.

Was her first commercial venture also a personal celebration of his memory? Well, who could tell!

As she was advanced in her years she depended on her young son to carry the food stuff plus the necessary equipment – crockery, a couple of tables and several chairs (for the customers), washing pails, etc, down to village field where the Chinese (teochew or chiuchow) opera was staged.

Yes, not only was he in charge of the transportation of the ‘moi’ and all sundry by bicycle between the house and the field, he also had to do the waiting (serving) and washing of used crockery and utensils, and the packing up after the food had been sold.

Though the young lad was required to help his mum with most of the chores - he was responsible for almost everything, except for the cooking and handling of the money - he could do that only after his school hours. Thus the stall only opened in the late afternoon after he had returned from class when we witnessed him struggling to discharge his huge responsibility.

So at the ripe old age of 10 going on to 11, the laddie became the ‘man of the house’, unless of course you wish to be pedantic and insist on considering his nonagenarian granddad.

The ‘oh-knua moi’ proved to be very popular and before two hours had passed, the porridge was all sold out.

The owner of the neighbouring ice-drink stall was so taken by the woman's ‘oh-knua-moi’ that at the end of the first day, he made an advance booking for the last five bowls. Of course she thought he was joking, merely teasing her with that ridiculous request, so she ignored or forgot about his ‘advance booking’, very much to his disappointment and perhaps (quiet) chagrin when on the following day he came to collect his five bowls in vain. He then entreated her to consider his request seriously; he wanted at least (and not necessarily the 'last') five bowls of her most wondrous porridge reserved for him.

On the third day of the month’s long festival, the mum was very mindful of his earnest request, and as to be expected, the ice-drink hawker wasn’t disappointed with the expected quality of the dried oyster porridge.

Each day she made a modest net income of around five ringgit, which in her limited expectation was rather good money for around two to three hours of hawking. She was rapt as the five ringgit would see them in good stead for at least a couple of days.

A week passed by quickly; by then the uncle from the ice-drink stall became very friendly with and quite fond of the lad. Each evening, after the boy had sold off all the ‘moi’, the uncle would treat him to a free ice ball, smothered with ‘half sarsi half rose’ syrup. Gasp, gawd, omigosh ;-) what indulgent luxury. And the best part of it was it was FREE.

He sucked and sucked on that thirst quencher cum cooler, changing hands as each became numb from holding the ice ball. And when his lips became numb as well, he placed the remaining ice ball in a bowl, allowing it to melt down for subsequent quaffing, while he packed up the stall’s equipment.

That was when he overheard the ice-drink uncle asking his mum why she was grossly undercharging for her ‘moi’, when in fact she ought to set a higher and more appropriate price for such quality stuff. He inquired how much she was netting each day, and on discovering it was only five ringgit, shook his head sadly, either in disapproval or disappointment, or both.

Seeing his frown of disapproval, she went into her usual passive-defensive mode, mumbling something about not wishing to gouge her customers ... mar see bay sai t'an ar nay chay* ... blah blah blah ...

* one shouldn't make excessive profits

Then the uncle advised her to factor in adverse weather, labour cost, cooking fuel, and accidents, etc. He asked her to consider the loss if her son experienced an accident during the transportation to-fro the village field, or in setting up the stall, where the entire pot of ‘moi’ was spilled. Therefore she ought to work those non-earning days, unseen cost and loss due to mishaps into her business plans and pricing.

Instead of considering the uncle's advice on business risk factors, she turned around to glare at her son as if he had indeed dropped the pot of ‘moi’. He knew from experience that she was compensating for her embarrassment and underconfidence by directing her annoyance at him.

But even sadder, he knew she won’t change the price of the ‘moi’ as the uncle advised. Apart from a fear of imagined disapproval from the customers because of her timidity and lack of confidence, she had neither the business acumen (to consider all the factors the uncle raised) nor ... most important of all ... the ‘killer instinct’ so vital in business to make the best (and appropriate) profits.

Yes, sadly she lacked the necessary ‘killer instinct’.

To be continued ...