Talking Cock: More Miscommunication

It’s been two years since we landed in Singapore and heard the amusing and confusing Singlish for the first time. Since then we’ve become a lot better at deciphering local language, and I even find myself tossing out an enthusiastic “Can!” every now and then. But we’ll never be as good as the locals, and we still find ourselves misunderstanding and being misunderstood.

One day I went with some friends to Café Iguana. There were seven of us, so we’d made reservations. The conversation with the hostess went like this:

Kiersten: Hello! We have a reservation for seven people at 6:30.
Confused Hostess: Name?
Kiersten: Kiersten.
Confused Hostess: (Stares at sheet of paper. Turns it over. Stares. Turns it over again.)
Kiersten: It’s K-I-E-R-S-T-E-N.
Confused Hostess: (Stares at Kiersten. Stares at paper, which has about three reservations on it.) No name. Not here.
Me: (I look around the restaurant, which is almost abandoned since it’s pretty early on a weeknight. There are three tables with eight chairs around them, and all are available.) Well…can’t we just sit there?
Confused Hostess: (Stares at me. Stares at paper.)
Kiersten: (Takes paper and looks it over. Points.) This reservation? Chris Tan for seven people? 6:30? That’s me!
Confused Hostess: OHHHHH! CHRIS TAN! Yes, this way.

I’m pretty sure the waitress thought that we were just with someone called Chris Tan, and never figured out that the person taking the reservation had misunderstood Kiersten and wrote her name down as Chris Tan. But that’s OK. We got a good laugh and some yummy food.


If we have that much trouble in person, you can only imagine how hard it is to talk on the phone, without the assistance of ridiculous hand gestures, pantomimes, and facial expressions to get the point across. I’ve had people just hang up on me out of sheer frustration before. But my favorite times were these two.

Me: (Freshly out of bed, home alone and in my pajamas) Hello? I’m calling to make an appointment for aircon maintenance.
Loud Indian Man: YES! AIRCON! CAN! WHERE YOU LIVE?
Me: (With many repetitions and a lot of spelling out, I give him my address.) Can you come tomorrow? In the morning?
Loud Indian Man: MORNING CAN!
Me: Tomorrow morning?
Loud Indian Man: MORNING! FIFTEEN MINUTE!
Me: NO! Not fifteen minute! Cannot! Tomorrow morning!
Loud Indian Man: TWENTY MINUTE CAN! (click)

I called back but there was no answer. I was unprepared for this. I was supposed to be going to follow the monkeys, and I had no cash on hand to pay the maintenance man. I threw on some shorts, ran out the door, and jogged to the nearest ATM, then ran back. This was a trial for me, because S'pore is so bloody hot that I don’t run here unless I’m being chased. Anyway, I got back, sweating and panting, to find the maintenance man standing outside my door, energetically ringing my door bell. He looked me up and down, shook his head once, then went inside and worked on the aircon.


Another time we were with a bunch of friends at their condo. We were all playing board games (ROBO RALLY!) and enjoying their posh rooftop hangout spot. Around dinner time, we decided to order pizzas. Since I’d had a hilariously bad time ordering Indian food the last time we’d all hung out (there’d been a lot of shouting of “MUTTAR PANEER” before the person at Anjappar passed the phone to someone else who heard me say about three words before passing the phone on again), the responsibility went to my German friend, Hen. She has a slight accent, but had successfully ordered pizza from this place a few times, so she went for it, and repeated our order for four pizzas several times. One of the pizzas was a Four Cheese pizza.

When the food got there, three of the pizzas were correct, but the one that was supposed to be Four Cheese was mysteriously covered in sea creatures. We were positively perplexed. How could “cheese” have been confused with “seafood”?! We looked at the menu and spotted the culprit- a “Fortune Pizza,” covered in squid, shrimp, fish, etc. I guess Hen and I are both out the next time we delegate responsibility for ordering food!


This one wasn’t a miscommunication so much, but it made me laugh. One day, I got into a taxi and the driver was very animated and talkative. Our conversation went like this:

Taxi Uncle: Where you going?!
 Me: Jurong East.
Taxi Uncle: Jurong East! Wah! Why you go there?!
Me: I live there!
Taxi Uncle: WAH! NO! You do not.
Me: Yup! I’ve lived there for two years.
Taxi Uncle: (laughs) You from UK?!
Me: Nope, I’m from the US.
Taxi Uncle: Ohhh, US ah. (laughs harder)
(long pause)
Me: Why did you think I was from the UK?
Taxi Uncle: Because you not fat. You skinny. Only fatty bom bom from US! Skinny people from UK!

I laughed hard. Then I gave him a tip.

When my friend "Chris Tan" moved away recently, she left me her copy of The Coxford Singlish Dictionary. At least now I have something to refer to when someone describes something as "shiok" or calls someone a "ya ya papaya."