I think I can safely assume that I am an artist. I love doing stuff that makes no money. I have a sore temper. I am self-righteous. And I can forget important things in a heartbeat.

Amongst my recent accomplishments is the verbal brawl I had with customer service at Air Asia. They insisted I was telling them the wrong PNR number even though I was reciting it verbatim from their email. I read out my credit card number, to which a charge had already been made, and they said they had no record of the transaction. After several days of emails and phone calls as I chased them, ultimately one guy asked me to send me a copy of the papers that he could double check. As we discussed the details, he told me to resend the information - I’d apparently forwarded him my Tiger Airways tix by mistake instead of Air Asia’s.

That’s right, I fought with Air Asia for week over tickets that I’d booked with Tiger. By the time I realised the marvel, I’d given up on Air Asia’s inefficiencies and booked an alternate set of tickets via another airline for my trip.

In short, I have what it takes to be an artist.

Only problem is that what I doodle looks like a ant drowning in ink as it thrashes across the page. On the plus side, it is encouragingly vague, so there is definitely the potential of someone finding meaning in it. With luck, that someone will have money to back his sensitivity, perception and momentary lapse of judgment.