Juliette wants to go to a few concert, and Singapore being Singapore, concert tickets cost you a kidney. She can’t exactly work part time, her parents forbade her to do so. She’ll need to make money in the shortest time, using the least effort.
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I’m that 18 year old still battling the daily grind of junior college life in Singapore, lectures, tutorials, CCA, deadlines, the occasional mini meltdown in the school toilet.
Sometimes instead of a meltdown, i do a tik tok dance with my friends instead.
Nothing grabs eyeballs than girls doing stuff in the toilet. Yeah, read that again.
Everything a girl does in the toilet is interesting to the internet in this day and age. The thrill of getting followers and likes from my dances just faded off after a while. I don’t need validations from faceless strangers.
I’m that average student trying to keep my grades decent while pretending I have my life together.
But concerts? Concerts are my one real weakness.
And this year is insane. Coldplay. Taylor Swift. Blackpink. All coming to Singapore. Back to back.
It’s like the concert gods are finally smiling at us. And me? I’m not about to miss it. The lights, the crowd, the music,it’s not just a night out, it’s magic.
Old people won’t understand one la. They’ll probably say the loud music is bad for their eardrums and trying to get on the train after the concert end is bad for their backs.
There is just one slight problem.
Magic …is expensive.
These tickets are not “skip two bubble teas” expensive. They’re fucking “sell your kidney on the black market” expensive. Ok i’m exaggerating, but they are definitely sell your undies online kind of expensive.
And with my pocket money barely covering my Grab rides when I oversleep and my occasional shopping splurge, there’s no way I can pay for even one concert, let alone three.
So, I need to work.
In theory, simple. Find a job, clock the hours, save up, done.
But in reality? My parents would flip.
They think retail and F&B are “low class” jobs.
Not “bad,” not “tiring”, just specifically “low class.”
Their exact words. I’ve heard them say it about other people’s kids:
“your cousin Sara is wasting their time behind a cashier counter.”
“so and so is working at a hotpot restaurant”
“Auntie Julie’s 2nd cousin’s neighbour is working at a Acai palour”
They didn’t work their whole lives just to have me “lower myself” like that.
I don’t agree. Work is work. It’s honest. You learn things. You meet people. You see life beyond the air-conditioned bubble of a JC classroom. But try telling them that, they’ll shut me down before I can even finish my sentence.
So, that leaves only one option: make money in secret.
Which is trickier than it sounds. My parents have spies everywhere,relatives, their friends, random aunties from the wet market who have nothing better to do than report my every move.
And my classmates? Fuck. One of them sees me in a wiping tables, scooping ice cream, making waffles, the whole school will know. Then somehow, my mum will know. And then I’ll be dead.
I’ll need a way to make money, without my parents knowing. Hell, i need to make money without anyone knowing.
So how?
How can a 18 year old, innocent, sweet student do in Singapore?
None of that shit you have in your head you fucking pervert.
I love myself, and i love my body. I’m not going to be some skanky social escort or sugar babe of some fat, balding businessman duh.
Nobody is touching me. Period.
With that in mind, i start to hunt for jobs and gigs online.
Well, the kind of crap you get from online groups, portals, it’s the usual shit. The kind of sick things people can come up with, it’s amazing. They’ll pay for someone to watch them masturbate.
They’ll pay to worship feet, whatever the fuck that means.
They’ll pay for movie dates, hold hands, kisses.
Almost everything involved something physical which i am unable to accept.
That is until i came across one particular ad.
Avid photographer seeks model.
‘Outdoor shoot’
Location – right beside a police station
Fully clothed, no physical contact.
That got my attention immediately.
Meeting up beside a police station, surely nothing bad will happen.
Help is just a shout away.
I sat up and clicked the ad for more details.
$150 for a 15 minutes photoshoot.
Juliette: what the hell, that’s like $10 a minute.
That’s not too bad a deal.
I sent the advertiser a message and i received a reply almost immediately.
The sender, James, confirmed that we will be meeting up beside a police station. Not just your regular neighbourhood police post, but one of those big ones.
I feel safe thinking about it already.
He offered to meet up first at a cafe, we can have a chat, talk about his requirements and if i’m comfortable, we can go ahead with the shoot. And you know the best part?
$50 just to meet up for coffee.
This kind of good deal, where to find?
I agreed right away.
We exchanged contacts and i immediately opened his profile picture on whatsapp.
James is probably in his fifties, not balding, but with a beer belly and serious case of double chin.
Well, I’ll do whatever it takes to stand in those stadiums, screaming along to “Viva La Vida,” “All Too Well,” and “Shut Down” like I’ve made it in life.
It’s just meeting a middle age uncle for coffee, and maybe let him take a few pictures of me.
What could possibly go wrong?
10100 words
A copy of this story will be available in audiobook format in webstore when released. (~1 hour)