While wandering around unsavoury parts of the city, my duck came across this remnant of a more glorious time when men ruled the earth and women swooned with the spiritual joy of sexual subjection. The subject of my interest was a raised chamber of secrets with a little pit as dark as night.
In the not too distant past, nameless men of mean constitutions patrolled the streets of Singapore, stalking cubicles of suspicion to swipe freshly-filled buckets under the very noses of restless depositors. It's said that they could insert a new container in the time it took for an average fellow to reload and discharge another bombshell. The teams even had special vehicles, sadly unavailable in action-figure size, fitted with 80-neat compartments for slotting in buckets. These chariots of manure must have been the bane of drivers within reach of their sloshing payload. Back at the processing stations, which were located at Park Road, Jalan Afifi and Albert Street, the contents were emptied into sewers and washed before a new day of duty.
It was a trade steeped in family values, with fathers passing the motion to sons who learnt to battle the stench by chain-smoking and who'd never pass up an opportunity to shake the hands of friends, foes and visiting ministry officials. The bureaucrats thus touched by this tradition were probably relieved when the practice kicked the bucket in January 1987, flushing these custodians of soiled nights down the drains of sanitised history.