Since the price of gasoline has been continually skyrocketing at a dizzying, if not mindblowing pace, many motorists-who, like me cannot be considred rich by all acceptable social standards (not yet, anyway)-have devolved into being work-week pedestrians. Yesterday marked my first jeepney ride home from work. Since there are no FXs plowing the route towards my parents' house, the worsening economy have done the impossible. It turned back time and made me a 15 year-old kid again commuting his way home from high school. I always wanted to be a teen-ager again but I guess there is an ounce of truth to the cliche, "be careful of what you wish for..."
Like most Filipino males who ride jeepneys, I opted to acquire a seat in the front, riding shotgun with the driver. Luckily, I got to the front seat first before anybody else could squeeze in. When I got inside the king-of-the-road PUJ, I instantly noticed that the cabin was more cramped than I had expected and imagined. Perhaps, over the years I have gained too much weight for my own good. To be sure, even a ninety pound (90 lbs) old lady wouldn't fit beside me and the driver in that particular PUJ cockpit. Apparently, the seat was cannibalized from an old, early 90's Toyota Crown or Corona--if I'm not mistaken. Meaning, even if the seat is initially designed to accomodate one (1) passenger, it is now living its second life constantly seating two (2) commuting passengers at a time. Further, there was too much clutter around the cabin: a toolbox, a water jug filled with what seemed like diesel fuel, a pair of old pliers, etc., etc..
I decided that I would rather sit alone in the front with the driver and pay for what is the equivalent of another passenger's fare than pay only for myself and get squeezed into extreme discomfort all the way home to my parents'. I asked for how much is the fare and with no sruprise on my part, it was almost three (3) times more than what I used to pay when I was a thin, rocker-wannabe school kid from UST High. I paid twice that amount and told the driver not to let anybody else sit beside me para hindi masikip. I wouldn't mind at all if someone who resembles Ara Mina or Angelica Panganiban would sit beside me, but in all probability, it could be someone closer to the looks of Max Alvarado or Tommy Abuel at the least. Hell, if an Ara or Angelica attempted to sit there, maybe I'd even let her sit on my lap. On second thought, maybe not. My lovely and loving wife might just kill me faster than GMA's government would eventually kill us all if I did such an immoral and distasteful thing.
In our profession, we are required to dress up every single God-given day as if we are getting shot by a TV or Movie camera. Lawyers must be at all times dressed to kill. At least, those of us who give a damn about proper decorum anyway. So its either a barong or a suit. No other kind of professional except a lawyer would be crazy or pompous enough to wear a tailored suit in this tropical weather. I have been taught in my law school days that wearing the same is an acquired taste, just like the taste for beer. Personally, I enjoy wearing barongs and tailored suits. I had five (5) barongs made at a time by "Exclusively His Tailors" a few months back and a nice charcoal black Brooks Brothers replica of a suit also made by the same tailor. On the questioned date with the jeepney ride however, I was just wearing an embroidered but comfortable yellowish "Onesimus" polo barong together with RTW pinstripe slacks that my wife bought at the local SM mall just a few days back.
Among the lessons in life that I have learned is this: Filipinos judge people they don't know by the way they dress, by the car they drive, by the watch they wear, etc., etc.. There is no distinction. The same is true whether rich or poor. In my mind, I saw that manong driver thought I was not the daily passenger type. Seldom must he have a passenger wearing formal leather boots and pinstripe pants. Conceited as this observation of mine may be, but this is a hard fact of life. During the course of our approximately half-hour journey, we stopped at a gas station. My earlier guess about the water jug was correct. It contained diesel fuel. Apparently, manong customized his beloved jeepney to employ this jug as a makeshift fuel tank instead of the proper one. At this point, I made my sort of a mistake. "Sort of" because I'm not really sure if it indeed was a mistake: I started talking with manong driver.
Evidently, I sensed that he talked to me with an air of respect, in contrast to the rude way he treated some of the passengers. Whenever a student passenger would say "bayad po, isa lang," he would ask, "ano 'to estudyante?" And whenever the student answers "opo," he would retort "dapat kasi sasabihin n'yo kaagad hindi 'yung ginagawa n'yo akong manghuhula!" Also, each time when an old geezer pays, manong would ask "senior ho ba?" After the old folk answers in the affirmative, manong would murmur loud enough to be audible something to the effect of "ayaw kasing sabihin, gusto talaga pahirapan pa ako'ng mag-tanong..."
The Rainmaker (TRM for brevity): 'nong, bakit n'yo diyan kinakarga ang diesel? I was referring to the water jug cum fuel tank.
Manong: Eh kasi ho eh masyadong malaki yung tangke ng krudo nitong jeep, yada, yada, yada. I was not really paying attention but only pretending to be. I remembered that I forgot my paperback copy of Mario Puzo's "The Last Don" at the office.
TRM: Mas ok yan, kitang-kita nyo kung paubos na ang krudo nyo, at at the same time, ma-cocompute n'yo pa konsumo n'yo. Kaya lang, hindi ba delikado 'yan? At that moment, I remembered that when I was a kid, I tried to light a small automotive oil canister filled with diesel fuel with a lighted match but unlike gasoline, diesel doesn't light-up so easy. I figured I'd be safe and I better stop talking to manong. So, I shut my pie-hole.
Unfortunately, it was too late. The series of subsequent events could best be described as similar to the tale of Pandora's Box. Manong did not shut up as I did. In fact, he must've seen an opening--an opportunity to have someone to talk to from a different envronment. Sad but true, I got treated to what me and my freinds call a Nobela ng Talambuhay. Honestly, I didn't really care about what the poor schmuck was saying, but I could truthfully say that I was listening and enjoying the conversation for solely entertainment purposes. Sometimes, when the circumstances and the conditions are right, shooting some bull with a jeepney, taxi, or tricycle driver could be more entertaining than watching a movie. Surely, talking with manong was far more entertaining than all the movies featured on the VIVA movie channel on cable.
Real life is much more fun and exciting than the run-off-the mill, illogical and over-acted local movie flicks. Particularly so when manong talked about local gossip involving local politicians and personalities whom I know on a personal basis or at least those who I have heard of through other sources in the past. John Grisham said, "Lawyers thrive on Gossip." As testament to that remarkable statement, I can say with conviction that almost all lawyers are chismosos and chismosas. Nevertheless, they are of a different breed of chismosos and chismosas than that of those who dwell on the barberias and palangkes. Chismis, or in another word--gossip is a source of information. To the untrained, it has more harmful effects than good, if any at all. But to those versed with the practical working knowledge of Relevance and Materiality, much valuable information could be strainered even from the most outrageous and unbelievable hearsay story.
When it was finally my turn to alight the PUV, I said "salamat, manong" and he answered, "thank you po, sir." Know that I haven't verbally revealed anything about myself and what I do for a living. I just listened to him (or at least tried to listen and at some points, pretended to) while he blaberred on what is the meaning of life. Manong is a regular Ted Failon, who always have an opinion of everything. He's an experienced expert on Saudi Arabia's culture, having worked there for a decade. He's afraid that when his daughter grows up to be sixteen (16), the latter might want to go and work in Japan. And like most Filipinos who are naghihikahos sa kahirapan ng buhay, he's the government's number one (No.1) critic.
"A man could live his life as a slave to earn his daily bread without dignity or hope, or he could will himself to be a man who commanded respect."
-Don Domenico Clericuzio, Mario Puzo's "The Last Don"
Like most Filipino males who ride jeepneys, I opted to acquire a seat in the front, riding shotgun with the driver. Luckily, I got to the front seat first before anybody else could squeeze in. When I got inside the king-of-the-road PUJ, I instantly noticed that the cabin was more cramped than I had expected and imagined. Perhaps, over the years I have gained too much weight for my own good. To be sure, even a ninety pound (90 lbs) old lady wouldn't fit beside me and the driver in that particular PUJ cockpit. Apparently, the seat was cannibalized from an old, early 90's Toyota Crown or Corona--if I'm not mistaken. Meaning, even if the seat is initially designed to accomodate one (1) passenger, it is now living its second life constantly seating two (2) commuting passengers at a time. Further, there was too much clutter around the cabin: a toolbox, a water jug filled with what seemed like diesel fuel, a pair of old pliers, etc., etc..
I decided that I would rather sit alone in the front with the driver and pay for what is the equivalent of another passenger's fare than pay only for myself and get squeezed into extreme discomfort all the way home to my parents'. I asked for how much is the fare and with no sruprise on my part, it was almost three (3) times more than what I used to pay when I was a thin, rocker-wannabe school kid from UST High. I paid twice that amount and told the driver not to let anybody else sit beside me para hindi masikip. I wouldn't mind at all if someone who resembles Ara Mina or Angelica Panganiban would sit beside me, but in all probability, it could be someone closer to the looks of Max Alvarado or Tommy Abuel at the least. Hell, if an Ara or Angelica attempted to sit there, maybe I'd even let her sit on my lap. On second thought, maybe not. My lovely and loving wife might just kill me faster than GMA's government would eventually kill us all if I did such an immoral and distasteful thing.
In our profession, we are required to dress up every single God-given day as if we are getting shot by a TV or Movie camera. Lawyers must be at all times dressed to kill. At least, those of us who give a damn about proper decorum anyway. So its either a barong or a suit. No other kind of professional except a lawyer would be crazy or pompous enough to wear a tailored suit in this tropical weather. I have been taught in my law school days that wearing the same is an acquired taste, just like the taste for beer. Personally, I enjoy wearing barongs and tailored suits. I had five (5) barongs made at a time by "Exclusively His Tailors" a few months back and a nice charcoal black Brooks Brothers replica of a suit also made by the same tailor. On the questioned date with the jeepney ride however, I was just wearing an embroidered but comfortable yellowish "Onesimus" polo barong together with RTW pinstripe slacks that my wife bought at the local SM mall just a few days back.
Among the lessons in life that I have learned is this: Filipinos judge people they don't know by the way they dress, by the car they drive, by the watch they wear, etc., etc.. There is no distinction. The same is true whether rich or poor. In my mind, I saw that manong driver thought I was not the daily passenger type. Seldom must he have a passenger wearing formal leather boots and pinstripe pants. Conceited as this observation of mine may be, but this is a hard fact of life. During the course of our approximately half-hour journey, we stopped at a gas station. My earlier guess about the water jug was correct. It contained diesel fuel. Apparently, manong customized his beloved jeepney to employ this jug as a makeshift fuel tank instead of the proper one. At this point, I made my sort of a mistake. "Sort of" because I'm not really sure if it indeed was a mistake: I started talking with manong driver.
Evidently, I sensed that he talked to me with an air of respect, in contrast to the rude way he treated some of the passengers. Whenever a student passenger would say "bayad po, isa lang," he would ask, "ano 'to estudyante?" And whenever the student answers "opo," he would retort "dapat kasi sasabihin n'yo kaagad hindi 'yung ginagawa n'yo akong manghuhula!" Also, each time when an old geezer pays, manong would ask "senior ho ba?" After the old folk answers in the affirmative, manong would murmur loud enough to be audible something to the effect of "ayaw kasing sabihin, gusto talaga pahirapan pa ako'ng mag-tanong..."
The Rainmaker (TRM for brevity): 'nong, bakit n'yo diyan kinakarga ang diesel? I was referring to the water jug cum fuel tank.
Manong: Eh kasi ho eh masyadong malaki yung tangke ng krudo nitong jeep, yada, yada, yada. I was not really paying attention but only pretending to be. I remembered that I forgot my paperback copy of Mario Puzo's "The Last Don" at the office.
TRM: Mas ok yan, kitang-kita nyo kung paubos na ang krudo nyo, at at the same time, ma-cocompute n'yo pa konsumo n'yo. Kaya lang, hindi ba delikado 'yan? At that moment, I remembered that when I was a kid, I tried to light a small automotive oil canister filled with diesel fuel with a lighted match but unlike gasoline, diesel doesn't light-up so easy. I figured I'd be safe and I better stop talking to manong. So, I shut my pie-hole.
Unfortunately, it was too late. The series of subsequent events could best be described as similar to the tale of Pandora's Box. Manong did not shut up as I did. In fact, he must've seen an opening--an opportunity to have someone to talk to from a different envronment. Sad but true, I got treated to what me and my freinds call a Nobela ng Talambuhay. Honestly, I didn't really care about what the poor schmuck was saying, but I could truthfully say that I was listening and enjoying the conversation for solely entertainment purposes. Sometimes, when the circumstances and the conditions are right, shooting some bull with a jeepney, taxi, or tricycle driver could be more entertaining than watching a movie. Surely, talking with manong was far more entertaining than all the movies featured on the VIVA movie channel on cable.
Real life is much more fun and exciting than the run-off-the mill, illogical and over-acted local movie flicks. Particularly so when manong talked about local gossip involving local politicians and personalities whom I know on a personal basis or at least those who I have heard of through other sources in the past. John Grisham said, "Lawyers thrive on Gossip." As testament to that remarkable statement, I can say with conviction that almost all lawyers are chismosos and chismosas. Nevertheless, they are of a different breed of chismosos and chismosas than that of those who dwell on the barberias and palangkes. Chismis, or in another word--gossip is a source of information. To the untrained, it has more harmful effects than good, if any at all. But to those versed with the practical working knowledge of Relevance and Materiality, much valuable information could be strainered even from the most outrageous and unbelievable hearsay story.
When it was finally my turn to alight the PUV, I said "salamat, manong" and he answered, "thank you po, sir." Know that I haven't verbally revealed anything about myself and what I do for a living. I just listened to him (or at least tried to listen and at some points, pretended to) while he blaberred on what is the meaning of life. Manong is a regular Ted Failon, who always have an opinion of everything. He's an experienced expert on Saudi Arabia's culture, having worked there for a decade. He's afraid that when his daughter grows up to be sixteen (16), the latter might want to go and work in Japan. And like most Filipinos who are naghihikahos sa kahirapan ng buhay, he's the government's number one (No.1) critic.
"A man could live his life as a slave to earn his daily bread without dignity or hope, or he could will himself to be a man who commanded respect."
-Don Domenico Clericuzio, Mario Puzo's "The Last Don"
