duskwatcher

Got a new set of business cards, my first for the new job, quite recently.

I’ve always regarded these little pieces of cardboard as compressed résumés that would, hopefully, enlighten people we’ve just met as to why they’re bothering to talk to us.

At home, I have about six or seven boxes of business cards that became obsolete the moment a phone number changed, a company moved floors or I handed in a resignation letter. Then again, I am to blame for all those expired business cards, for I must have handed out less than thirty of them all these years.

Still, I’d like to think that I have hundreds of free little bookmarks.

The bus broke down just as we were about to get off at the Megamall stop. The engine sputtered out, the air conditioning died and the hydraulics sealed the door in an instant rigor mortis while the horrible stereo tuned in to a cheesy FM station remained annoyingly alive.

Nothing surprising about this really. Most buses in Metro Manila appear to be units that had been phased out from Japan two (perhaps even three?) decades ago, and these rusty dinosaurs (or should I say Godzillas?) break down often enough.

I just found it quite ironic how the bus trapped us literally at a spitting distance from our destination.

The other passengers who were also supposed to get off at the same stop crowded the front of the bus aisle. They stood and watched the conductor and driver try (and fail) to pry the door open.

Perhaps some of them also began to wonder if we should start eating each other to stay alive.

I walked to the end of the bus and tried the emergency exit. To my relief, the red latch turned. But then, I saw that the door had been welded shut by what seems to be melted tire rubber. I guess bus companies sealed emergency exits to keep cheap passengers from escaping when time came to pay for the fare.

For a moment, I stood before the sealed door, listened to the muffled hum of traffic underneath some sad old pop song, and looked at the expanse of Megamall just beyond the filthy glass where EMERGENCY EXIT was painted on in both English and Japanese.

Then, I was finally able to do something I’ve (sort of) always wanted to do: open a bus window and jump the fuck out.

Speakers blaring out pop music and discjockey drivel are essential to the jeepney-riding experience. Every so often, a...bonus comes along.

Like last night.

A bespectacled yuppie-in-training (still years away from the coveted company car plan, I presume) got on the vehicle and sat quietly opposite me. Until whatever pop station the driver had on played Hoobastank.

Yuppie boy closed his eyes and, with much gusto (and volume), began to sing along to The Reason.

Never mind if he didn't know all the lyrics - he figured he can always catch up near the ends of the verses anyway. Never mind if he didn't know some of the lyrics at all - those parts, he was content to whistle along.

Now, if anyone ever doubted that Pinoys are musically inclined folks, I guess this is proof enough.

Though the maroon copies of the Da Vinci Code are quite conspicuous, it is easier to see what other fad the herds have embraced.

I see rackets everywhere.

The wealthier (or should I say, the more ostentatious?) lug their beloved rackets in special racket-shaped cases. The rest simply have racket handles sticking out of knapsacks and gym bags.

Either way, it gives the impression that a lot of people are expecting tennis balls and shuttlecocks to fall out of the sky any moment now.

Once in a while, what I'd presume to be an ordinary cab ride can turn out pretty interesting.

Like the one I had just a few minutes ago.

Now...I don't drive. But I do know what a NO LEFT TURN sign looks like. Apparently, the cab driver didn't. Or didn't care.

So we merilly headed left at a busy intersection where the NO LEFT TURN sign stood, right about the time the traffic light at the opposite lane turned green. Which meant that I was treated to the interesting sounds of screeching tires and blaring horns from cars that were, naturally, heading towards my side of the vehicle.

After a few more streets, the driver repeats this little stunt. This time we turned left at another NO LEFT TURN sign (perhaps he thought obeying signs like these was how one eventually became a rightist), and into a one-way street. It was amazing how the oncoming cars swerved out of our way.

And since I obviously lived to tell you folks about this tale, I think it's going to be a really great Friday.