The Colour Purple

The Purple Wall via Internet

Finally at 25, I had my first site. It was a double storey detached house that I had designed from scratch.

The owner a youngish Chinese man, with a unisex hair cut was what one would call nouveau riche, having made his millions in the past three years. With a lucky streak and a bull run, suddenly Mr Man had more than he was accustomed to.

After the new cars, new wardrobe, accessories and new wife, he bought an old house in an old neighbourhood. Mr Man decided on an “English” sounding address and chose York Road. Definitely dignified.

As the design grew, I began to understand what Mr Man wanted in his home. He’s been reading up design magazines and bought stacks of architectural books with pretty pictures for my reference. Sometime he’ll just tear out a few pages, fold these into little squares and stick it in his breast pocket to show his friends over lunch.

What I’ll get later is bits of glossy paper with food stains that he’ll drop off at my office like food pellets for his hamsters.

It’s quite obvious that those who never develop a love for books get to abuse others with their lack of finesse. I shuddered whenever I had to finger one of his “inspirations”.

Mr Man brought his flavour of the week to meet up at sanitary ware showroom. She of unintelligible accent that sounded like rude Shanghainese was reed thin with a bosom that defies gravity.

“Nothing that thin could have boobs that cup size,” my receptionist hissed.

She wanted us to call her Mrs. Man on first meeting.

“So what do we call the real Mrs. Man?” my receptionist whispered rolling her eyes.

I was horrified when we went shopping for sanitary wares in a reputable showroom. He was flabbergasted and flattered at the same time. She kissed the air and tapped his cheek with a crimson tipped fore finger. “But, I want!” she pouted prettily and stomped a foot.

“Err," I began a little mortified to see such blatant display, "Urmph... I will need to check the dimensions to see if everything fits.” I waved my hand expressively. My mind was reeling.

She wanted everything on display: as in having a long bath, a separate shower cubicle, a Jacuzzi, two vanity basins, a WC and a bidet. All in the same Master Bath. Yes!

He tried to dissuade her. “But I want! Jacuzzi is for two people to bath each other and make love in. Long bath is for milk bath and aromatherapy oils to make my skin soft and beautiful.” More pouting. Her voice was lost after the description on a Jacuzzi’s function.

Mr. Man’s was obviously anemic, his face paled. I fancied all that blood must have rushed to his nether regions. I was beginning to see the logic in her bad Engrish. Men!

One day, my engineer and I were cracking our heads over the recent “must-have” which was suspending a king size day bed from the ceiling in his patio so they could relax in full view of the pool.  We giggled as we sketched and measured and worked out the details for fixing. Yes, we sort of knew where that idea came from and where it was going to; eventually.

There was an urgent phone call. “Some idiot had painted my wall purple!” Mr. Man screamed into the phone.

“You, the Dee better fix it when I get back!” more shouting.

Engineer and I drove like mad, parked haphazardly and made our way pass the scaffolding and side stepping nails left in the struck off formwork.

There it was. Lo and behold that free standing feature wall in the middle of the Living Room. That backdrop for his altar for Kuang Kung. Newly erected and recently plastered and perfectly skim coated. Painted Purple!

The Contractor was equally dumb founded. All three of us stood and stared, mouths gaping, wide opened.

Finally the Contractor hollered and swore in Cantonese. His workers came running. There was some commotion, tins falling over, some vague thud towards the rear of the house.

Then Ah Pek, the painter ambled in. “Ah, young lady, you’ve come to site!” he greeted me with a toothless grin.

Engineer decided to get to the bottom of this. “Eh, who ask you to paint this ah?”

“The Architect of course. She wrote it down for me.” Ah Pek said between puffs of his cigarette.

“Me, surely not. I didn’t write you any instructions.” I glared at the Contractor.

More furious rapid firing in Cantonese. The Contractor scratched his head, looked silly when he finally translated.

“Someone scrawled on the newly skim coated wall with four numbers which the painter thought was the colour code that you selected. Ah Pek here got all the different colour charts and swatches before to find the colour matching that code,” Contractor pointed to the wall.

After more questioning and a little gentle prodding, the real story was, one sub-contractor who was an avid punter wanted to play some lucky numbers. He wrote it for his friend who was on his way over to read off the wall and buy at the betting shop on his behalf.

Would something like this happen in this day and age with technology and hand phones to communicate with? Of course the answer is a resounding YES.

When working with Contractors and Sub-Contractors, it is always prudent to confirm, re-confirm and double confirm!

Failing which, the Architect issues instructions for the Contractor to rectify at his own cost.

Doris Lim is a popular freelance writer who blogs as Little Fish on travel and food stories here. Be sure to check out her other inspiring stories and follow her Instagram @SmartDoryID & Facebook to check out more places to eat delicious street foods or dine in the best restaurants!