Ryan

Discounts

7:30 a.m.

The atm machine spit out my bank card reluctantly. I pulled it out and began to turn away.

“Wait sir you forgot your money!”

My head spun and I hurried back.

“Oh sorry, thanks.”

Now was a good time to get coffee, so I walked to the McCafe next to the station. I waited until my turn, and ordered a regular flat white and a butter croissant.

“We could not complete your call, please try — “ I cut off the announcer, and switched off my screen to save battery.

That idiot, probably still asleep. I hope he didn’t forget to set an alarm yesterday night. Taking another sip, I paused the music and hovered my thumb on the main menu. My home screen background glared at me for what seemed like the longest moment. I sighed, put down my phone, and took out Meditations.

Might as well finish the chapter before we met up.

8:45 a.m.

The crowd control measures shifted only a small portion of people into the venue, and we stopped short outside the air-conditioned area. The sheer mass of black dots talked loudly in the background. My companion shook his head and wiped off sweat. A loud sigh came from the back of his tongue.

“It’s 29 degrees, the sun is burning our heads. It’s a Sunday, and tomorrow is the last day. Discounts will be much higher. The distributors are going to be desperate to clear their stocks. Mind telling me why we are here, waiting patiently at the end of line for an event that begins at 10?”

“I don’t think that’s a good question. The great question is what. What brings us here?” I winked at him.

“I hate being friends with an Arts student.” He glared at me before taking a sip of water.

“I am glad that my best buddy studies quantitative finance,” I answered.

How can I live without water?

“Sadly his brain is all quantity over quality.”

“Please don’t insult my brain.” He rolled his eyes. “Anyways,” he casually brought his handkerchief up to take a few swipes, ”what are you planning to buy this year? Have you finished those from last year already? You did buy a lot last time”.

I took my time. Sure, the novel was quite enjoyable, the economics opinion book was so-so (I finally got to understand some of the complex concepts), but the two on politics were written so poorly that I had to bury them in the bookshelves after the first few chapters.

So much for a last-day bargain deal.

“Well, they were quite nice for the price.” I held my chin with my hands, pretending to be wise about my rash decision a year ago.

The best thing about travel is neither the souvenir nor the photos on Instagram. It’s the memories and experience so that you can recall and laugh with your friends about your stupid shenanigans on a high-speed train.

The gesture did not go unnoticed. My aspiring banker had survived a harsh placement at the mercy of an arrogant, ill-tempered superior, not to mention that this person had also known me for more than a decade already.

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” He picked up the hesitant manner in my response.

Tsk, how troublesome.

Not knowing if I didn’t want to answer or I really didn’t know who I was trying to convince, I chose the best course of action.

I shut up.

11:23 a.m.

Through the aisles we went, shoving through dozens of parents herding their children and steering clear of the hopeless romantics who found their partners more appealing than the large “20% off” signs. There were people who found discount signs attractive though, but obviously twenty was not a good enough number for them. It was difficult to stop and take a closer look at some of the books that were on sale. Annoyingly large crowds, screaming venders and narrow pathways made it even harder to navigate in a maze of stalls.

We finally came to a clearing. We looked around.

I’m sure I saw a 40% right there.

“Commercial Press?” He glanced around. “Or Popular bookstore? There seems to be less people over there.”

“Yeah sure, they have 30% off every year, might as well pick up a few Penguins classics,” I told him. We started to walk to a more breathable area.

“You mean those $100 for 4 classics?” He scoffed, stopping again to peek at some cookbooks.

What the hell, you could barely even cook.

“You barely touch them anyways,” he followed up with a well-placed riposte.

He was telling the truth.

“How do you – argh nevermind that. I just feel obliged to buy them, and maybe try to genuinely enjoy the story before we get all technical about it?” I retorted, sort of.

“What do you mean, get technical? You know I’m not good at words.” He looked puzzled.

“Remember when he used to study 1984 and Hunger Games in G8 and G10?” I tried.

“Uh-huh.”

“Right, I don’t know if you remember or not. But for those two books, I read them before we actually had to be taught about it. I kind of enjoyed the stories. It all fell apart when we had to memorize the book and remember stuff for quizzes and exams.”

“Well…yeah now I do remember. I just felt confused when they asked stupid questions in exams like: why did Romeo say ‘did my heart love till now’; obviously Shakespeare told him to! Just as how directors and scriptwriters push our favourite characters to death every time! Why must we answer the obvious?” He burst out.

Should I have asked a business student about English literature?

“You do have a point.” I began to contemplate my robotic responses to exam papers, or somewhat to a larger extent, my undergraduate degree. “It seems schizophrenic, doesn’t it, to approach and answer the question in your own words while also actively considering the author’s intention in writing so. It’s like we’re only being taught how others think through the guise of ‘critical thinking.’” I gathered my thoughts.

“I always find critical thinking ironic though. They always think that there is right or wrong, with our critical answers. Like, what is the point of creating a marking scheme for something that is supposed to embody individualism? It doesn’t hold up really, the idea of critical thinking just makes it less critical the more you write and get marked for it.” He sighed before turning a corner.

His words made sense as much as they didn’t. I don’t know why I felt that way.

Weird dualities.

I wondered, would I prefer to live in ancient antiquity or modern times?

He picked up a book on a nearby countertop reading “$80 for 4, Penguins Classics”, and began to flip through the pages.

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

I know this book. I read it before.

1:03 p.m.

“Wow, look at those. I never imagined that those will be the most popular stalls in a book fair.” He pointed.

I glanced sideways and saw swarms of uniform-clad students lining up.

HKDSE must-do supplementary exercise, buy 1 get 1 free.

The signs got my attention. “That’s very cheap, cheaper than the ones we bought. Now I feel cheated.” With that I dragged him into the stall.

“What idiot would spend a fortune on one-use only, useless books?” My friend exclaimed very loudly.

“DSE is the one exam that determines their future!” I shushed him with a nudge.

“It’s just an exam that everyone has to go through, what’s the big deal? If they feel that their lives are determined by such a petty exam then let them be!”

“I guess so, you’re probably right…” I changed the topic and we flipped through the exercise books and mock papers, had a great laugh about how easy for us these questions were now, and finally decided to move on.

“Hey young man if you don’t get some now you’re missing out on some great deals! Do you wanna pass your DSE or not?”

“No thanks”, I told the scamming book sales, “I already have lots.”

2:25 p.m.

I saw him wave at me. I hurried over.

A click in the back of my head reminded me that I learned somewhere in a literature class that a person is always actively being hailed, whether one wishes for it or not.

Shaking away the thoughts, I sat down next to him.

“Phew, I have no idea why it’s so crowded even though it’s already past lunch hour, I’ll go and get food for us. You can take a look through your spoils of war first.” He grumbled and left to queue up at the cashier.

Strangely though the last thing I wanted to do at a book fair is to read. It is hard to read when everyone else around you is scrolling through smartphones.

Wouldn’t want to be the odd one out, would I?

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