The Rawang Toll
The sun was a lazy smear of gold over the hills as Lana drove her little Ativa along the highway to Rawang. On the radio, David Gray’s voice filled the car, a low, melancholy hum. Munir was quiet in the back, while Eva, in the passenger seat, looked out at the passing green.
“Why are David Gray songs always on your playlist?” Eva’s voice was sharp, cutting through the music. “Why not Ed Sheeran or Jamal Abdillah?”
Lana smiled, not taking her eyes off the road. “Because I love David Gray more than the rest.” She paused, a glint in her eye. “Besides, imagine Jamal Abdillah and his ‘Kekasih Awal dan Akhir’ right now. I’d be full-blown to love.”
The joke landed, and a small, wry smile touched Eva’s lips. “So what do you think of this song?” Lana asked, gesturing vaguely toward the speakers.
Munir shifted in the back, leaning forward between the two front seats. “I don’t know this one,” he said, his voice softer than Lana’s or Eva’s. “But I’ve had bad experiences with hospitals. It’s not the food, it’s the environment. The smell of medicine, the feeling of being trapped, helpless. People dying, moving in and out of those theatre rooms, it’s a whole different world.”
Eva nodded in agreement. “Yes, that’s true. My brother was admitted for a few days and he just kept screaming, ‘I want to go home.’ His wife was so upset; he kept calling her while she was at work.”
Lana tried to steer the conversation back to a more technical, less emotional topic. “In Malaysia, for example,” she said cheerfully, “some government hospitals use a ‘bulk trolley system.’ Some studies show it keeps food texture and temperature better than plated systems.”
Munir sighed, the sound of it full of old frustration. “It’s not the food, Lana. It’s the environment. No one wants to be in a hospital, unless your house has been wrecked by a big tornado.”
The music swelled, and Eva looked at Lana. “Maybe this ‘Hospital Food’ song is symbolic of something else,” she mused. “Maybe it’s about freedom versus being locked up and constantly monitored, being in a controlled position. It’s not a good feeling to be in that situation.”
Munir leaned back, folding his arms. “I think David Gray sang beautifully. He's a great musician and a good songwriter. I’ve known him since the 90s. But hospitals, I hate them. You should try going to a government hospital. The long wait, hours to see a doctor. And if you get admitted, there’s no room and you sleep along the corridor or on benches. It’s an ugly sight, even if the food is good.”
Lana fell silent, concentrating on her driving. The conversation was a storm of conflicting perspectives, a chaotic symphony of personal experiences and practical observations. She tried one more time to find a common ground. “You can find patient reviews for specific government hospitals on platforms like Yelp or Indeed, but be aware that they're often informal.”
Eva scoffed softly. “That’s social media reviews. Customer feedback, testimonials, ratings shared on platforms like Facebook, Instagram, and Google. It’s a crucial form of social proof and user-generated content, or so I’ve been told.”
“You disagree with that?” Lana asked.
“Not really,” Eva replied. “It’s just a tool.”
“Real people’s experiences matter,” Munir said quietly from the backseat, his voice final.
Lana finally broke the tension. “Looks like we’re at the Rawang toll now. Anyone need to go to the restroom?”
“Me!” Eva exclaimed, her voice returning to its normal, high-pitched self. The emotional weight of the conversation lifted, replaced by the simple, urgent reality of an empty bladder. The tollbooth was a gate, not to a hospital, but to temporary freedom.
TESSA YUSOFF
25 September 2025
Threat Level: Midnight Snack
(The camera opens on a standard-issue retail store office, looking very un-Dunder Mifflin. A slightly grainy, retro '90s filter is on the footage. Nina, looking heavily pregnant, sits at her desk, gesturing to the camera with a sigh.)
NINA: People always assume being a retail manager is all about spreadsheets and customer complaints. Honestly? It's more like a low-budget psychological thriller, but with better employee discounts. And a distinct lack of Michael Scott's antics, thank goodness.
(Cut to a talking-head interview with Nina. She's dressed professionally, but her expression is weary.)
NINA: I was never a "back room" manager. It’s just not my style. I’m out there on the floor, doing my thing, like a majestic, pregnant whale in her natural habitat. My employees are my people. My customers are… mostly my people.
(The camera pans to a burly, serious-looking man in a talking-head interview. He has a no-nonsense demeanor, like a more intense Dwight Schrute.)
STORE DETECTIVE: I've been a store detective for five years. Before that, I was in the army. My life is about pattern recognition. Threats, anomalies, a misplaced bottle of shampoo—it all follows a logic. My life is mostly lonely. I don't... I don't have a cat. I have a tactical vest.
(The scene shifts back to the office, a re-enactment is in progress with the same characters. A young employee, looking nervous, approaches Nina's desk.)
EMPLOYEE: Uh, Nina? Could we talk... privately? In the office?
NINA: Sure!
(Nina gives a warm smile. She and the employee enter the office. The camera follows, the shaky handheld style from the show becoming more pronounced. The door closes.)
NINA: (To the camera, in a talking-head interview) My employee, bless his heart, had me pegged as a soft target. He probably thought, "Oh, she's pregnant and nice. This will be like stealing candy from a baby... who is also in a baby." He was wrong.
(Back in the re-enactment, the employee pulls out a knife. The camera zooms in slightly, capturing the dramatic moment.)
EMPLOYEE: Open the safe!
NINA: (Calmly, without missing a beat) You’re on drugs, aren’t you? You’re shaking. My brother went through the same thing. Look, let’s talk about this.
(The employee's menacing demeanor crumbles. He looks confused. The camera focuses on the nervous, sweaty face of the employee. Nina's serene, unfazed face is in stark contrast. She’s less like Pam and more like a corporate Jedi Master.)
EMPLOYEE: (Still pointing the knife) I-I’ll kill you! I’ll stab your stomach! You and the baby won't make it!
NINA: No. We are not doing that. Sit down. You're going to accidentally stab yourself.
(The camera cuts to a slow, dramatic shot of the clock on the office wall. An hour passes. Then two. Then six. The sun sets. It’s an oddly long standoff for a retail store.)
(The store detective, now in a talking-head interview, looks bewildered.)
STORE DETECTIVE: I came in, didn’t see Nina, and immediately knew something was off. My instincts are never wrong. If she’s not on the floor, she’s either in trouble or she’s fighting a wild badger in the break room. This was not a badger incident.
(Back in the reenactment, the store detective, a man of action, calls the police.)
STORE DETECTIVE: I told the police, "I need every available officer, no sirens. The manager is in the back room and she's not available." That last part was my code. No one is ever "not available." It's like saying Dunder Mifflin is having a sale on paper that’s already been used on one side. It just doesn't happen.
(The final scene shows the office door being kicked in with a dramatic "thud." Police officers swarm the room. The employee, caught off guard, is disarmed and cuffed before he can react. Nina, still pregnant and still strangely calm, just looks at the chaos.)
NINA: (To the camera, in a final talking-head interview) I’ve always said that in retail, you have to be ready for anything. I just never thought “anything” would involve a six-hour hostage negotiation. It was definitely the craziest day I had on the job. Right up there with that time a customer tried to return a half-eaten rotisserie chicken.
(The episode ends with a shot of the store detective, looking on as Nina is comforted by an officer. He gives a small, proud nod before walking away. The screen cuts to black.)
TESSA YUSOFF
22 September 2025
