23.5.09

TITLE: "BAGONG" BACOOR
TAMBUCHO TALE #: 18
DESTINATION: LIBERTAD
TRT: 20 MINS.

It was already 18:00 and I was running late again. (I've changed shifts from 21:30 to 19:30). The sight of the busy rotonda temporarily converted to a one-way street was not assuring. Traffic enforcers are fond of doing this "buhos" system, much to my annoyance.

When it was already 18:20 and the Cavite-bound vehicles continued to enjoy the go signal, my blood started to boil. There's no chance I'd log in on time! Fellow commuters echoed my "tsks" but they remained passive. I, however, was ready to explode. The nearest traffic enforcer was about 2.5 feet away, wearing his yellow-and-blue uniform that screamed BAGONG BACOOR. That probably aggravated me. Is this the town claiming they're damn ready for cityhood?!

I approached him and inquired, "Kuya, baka naman pwedeng magpadaan na kayo dito?", gesturing for the Lawton- and Baclaran-bound vehicles to have their chance. I was not sure if my tone was even friendly.

He reacted, "Maghintay kayo. Inaayos na nga namin eh. Wag kayong makialam!" Then he went on murmuring something that sounded inaudible against the parade of cars.

I got more pissed. Incompetence coupled with attitude problem, that's a Bagong Bacoor traffic enforcer for you! It took me another 5 minutes before I could take a bus.

2 days later, I was on FX on a different route (to Libertad via Niog). The traffic was smooth sailing until we reached the F.E. de Castro intersection. The sight of the yellow-and-blue BAGONG BACOOR uniform turned my eyes into tiny slits. Here we go again. I overheard a fellow passenger recount her waiting-in-vain moment in the same spot a few days ago with her friend. I stared at my wristwatch. It took 15 minutes of hardcore daydreaming to survive the long wait.

When we finally get past that major hurdle, I heard the passenger across me say, "Ang tatanga talaga ng mga 'yan! Pinagsabay tayo at 'yung mga papasok ng de Castro," I couldn't agree more.

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lornadahl zebra-crossed at 21:26 ||

11.5.08

TITLE: DELAY
TAMBUCHO TALE #: 17
DESTINATION: VIGAN CITY
TRT: AROUND 8 HOURS

My friend Carol and I had just paid our de luxe bus tickets to Vigan in the Partas Bus Terminal in Cubao and we were in for that frustrating act of waiting. It was past 18:00 and, according to the woman in the Information booth, the passengers can hop in by 18:50 and the bus would leave by 19:00.

But my mind was somewhere else. If it were going to be a 10-hour trip, we would absolutely experience hunger along the way! The chips we brought would not be a sufficient replacement for good, hot dinner. I was aware there would be stopovers but I never achieved satisfactory eating experience out of those. I typically spend them for bladder breaks and, with the duration of the trip, I imagine to use it for serious stretching. I panicked at the thought.

Without saying a word to Carol, I stood up and craned my neck for any other food establishment aside from Burger Machine. I found something named ILOCANO'S CANTEEN. I nearly jumped in excitement, amazed at the timeliness of this discovery. What better way to prepare us for our trip but to try Manila-based Ilocano food? I came back, hesitated for a moment and asked her, "Gusto mong kumain? Mahaba ang byahe eh. Baka magutom tayo..." I was scared she would say she would starve herself to death or remind me of her plans to immortalize her curves in the photos with the Ilocos backdrop. To my relief, she agreed.

We exited the terminal through the entrance door. I can read, yes, but this was rather urgent. Carol might change her mind or something. Halfway crossing the street, I turned back and witnessed the inspection guy laughingly shake his head. Aren't we the same girls who entered the building from the exit door? I hate being dismissed as stupid. I'd prove him wrong when we come back!

Upon reaching the canteen, we exchanged the typical "Kaw,-kung-ano-gusto-mo-yun-na-rin-order-ko" dialogue. I surveyed the food and was disappointed not to see chicken pipian, pinakbet, poque poque and other Ilocano food. I went for sinigang na ulo; Carol asked for pusit. Being lovers of sinigang (pork sinigang in fact. But I've given up on pork. This was the first non-pork sinigang we shared ever), I deemed it appropriate to share mine. We were both impressed with the tasteful soup, moaning "Panalo!" in between sips. I tried her viand and was equally satisfied with its spiciness.

This brought us to recall our folks with Bicolano roots. My late grandfather was an excellent cook of laing. I used to wonder how he can endure making a candy out of sili. Carol's mother was also from Bicol. With the presence of the fish before us, we can imagine how would they consume it with bottomless eagerness until it becomes all bones.

Carol was done with her meal and caught sight of the de luxe bus. She wondered why the passengers were already seated inside. I dismissed it as exaggerated excitement, considering it would take us 10 hours to reach our destination. I would spend the last 15 minutes before boarding on my flat feet. I went on with my meal. But Carol displayed slight unease. I reminded her the bus leaves by 19:00. It was then only 18:20.

When we were finished, we had a predicament with the lady. We had nothing but P500 bills. Our meal was only around P100. She had no change. When we finally rummaged our pockets with P20 bills and coins, we retraced our steps to the terminal. The closer we got, the more the tension mounted and the more I realize the bus was indeed leaving!

I was still in denial the moment we reached the entrance. Carol took it upon herself to inform the inspector we are leaving for Vigan. His reaction was too surreal for me to take: we are the only passengers left! There was no time to even bitchslap the woman from the (Mis)Information booth with my puta red tabo let alone explain our side. Out of panic, we dashed to the exit (again!) to climb up the bus. We were greeted with "Sabi ko na nga ba, sila yun eh!" and "Gumala pa kasi eh!" from the driver and company.

I saw Carol beginning to react defensively with her teeth clenched. I told her to calm down. I found it pointless as we made it before they finally give up on us and the fellow passengers did not seem to harbor any resentment to us. Besides, the spacious legroom of our 23-seater bus was enough to make me ignore any negative thoughts. After all, it's a win-win situation: gastronomic nirvana and trip convenience. On to Vigan!

***

In spite of the looong road trip, I, the most sleep-deprived person on earth, did not get much snooze. Partly because I nearly drained Carol's phone battery from having porn marathon. It can not possibly be guilt as I told my parents where I was really headed (a first!). It was not the aircon either. It was tolerable, thanks to my puta red blanket.

The best way to describe it? A series of interrupted naps. I recall wishing the girl behind us would step down already so I can relocate there, stretch my legs and pretend I was sleeping on a real bed. I can not achieve that position from the one-seater.

Until that fateful moment I woke up and found most seats vacant. I hurriedly rose from my seat and aimed to lay down on the seat behind us. I nearly had a collision with a woman on an oncoming course. Next thing I knew, Carol was hissing, "Nasa Vigan na ata tayo! Di mo ba narinig ang sinabi ng babae?!" She motioned me to ask the driver. "Baka naman stopover lang ito?" she went on. (Or was it me who said so?)

My face reflected self-pride. After their accusations before we left Manila, there was NO WAY I would ask them for help! We scanned the place outside. We can read, yes, and it did read VIGAN PARTAS! Still armed with self-denial, we half-heartedly silently left the bus. It was only around 02:30! We were supposed to get there around 05:00!

At the same time, we were in disbelief that the driver and his partner did not bother to inform us. We were not expecting them to greet us with guitar playing and buko juice on hand, but a gentle nudge would had been fine. Weren't they happy to get rid of us? Have they forgotten the amount of stress we had caused them?

It was funny to be the last passengers to the truest sense of the word. In Cubao, we were the cause of delay. In Vigan, we were the last to know.

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lornadahl zebra-crossed at 19:35 ||

22.4.07

TITLE: GUEST
TAMBUCHO TALE #: 16
DESTINATION: SOMEWHERE IN DAVAO CITY
TRT: WILL GET BACK TO YOU ON THAT

Got this text message (altered to be eye-friendly) from my friend Edzelove. Of course, posted with permission. Raise your hand if you don't find this funny.

"May ginawa akong krimen! I didn't pay the jeep! It was 1 km later from the house when I realized I got no wallet! Plano ko [was] borrow from the candy stand where I'll stop pero medyo maghihintay nang matagal ang jeep non kasi magne-negotiate pa ako sa tindera. A dilemma between risking magalit mga pasahero and pagalitan ng driver, or deadma na lang. Hay sus kahiya talaga. May one guy [whom] akala ko kasamahan ko sa review uutangan ko sana, but it turns out hindi pala. Kinausap pa ako ng bagets, sus hanggang bumaba ako goodbye driver!"

After reading this, my company were completely clueless why I was on a laugh trip again. It took me a while to calm down and share it without pauses.

I'm sharing this because I had a couple of near-one two three (local term for not paying public utility jeeps) instances as of late. Yesterday, while on a jeep on my way home, I was on a mental debate if I had paid or not. I recall handing a number of coins to the driver which turns out to be the other passenger's. I'm glad I recalled this before hailing it to a stop and receive a disapproving look and curses from the driver.

Just today, I nearly forgot to pay. I was too busy text barraging everyone about my concern that I was only reminded to pay when a guy seated a few inches away handed me his payment. The driver's look on his eyes was enough to make me immediately fish for my coin purse.

Memory gap? Probably. Or a subconscious act of unwillingness to spend? More likely.


lornadahl zebra-crossed at 19:38 ||

16.2.07

TITLE: HEARTS
TAMBUCHO TALE #: 15
DESTINATION: BACLARAN
TRT: 30 MINS

And I'm running late again for work. This entails lesser buses, longer waiting time along Talaba. My brother Louie strongly disapproved of this new route. He finds it too dark and too dangerous. I appreciate his concern but I always shrug it off.

That night, I was on a race again with time. In spite of this, my heart only desired getting on an aircon bus. Why, you ask? I was getting sick and tired of my usual Mufasa hair-do.

Then one man popped out of nowhere and asked if there were still buses bound to Baclaran at that time. I said it would take longer than the usual to catch a bus but there were loads of jeepneys still. He seemed convinced then looked away. As if realizing he hadn't thanked me, he looked back and greeted me, "Happy Valentine's Day!". Knowing he must be unaware of my viewpoint on Valentine's, I managed to supress my eyebrows from reaching my scalp and nodded away. After all, that highly meaningless day was just less than 60 minutes away.

Perhaps he misinterpreted my gesture as an invitation for intimacy. He went ahead and inquired if I were just about to go to work. I nodded. Fear started to mount. It was almost payday and he must be on a lookout for his next call center victim. He commented it was already late then, as if I demonstrated any interest, he went on saying he was a seaman, he just came from training in Naic and blah blah blah. My dread was slowly being replaced by annoyance. As if it were not enough, he had the nerve to invite me for dinner in Jollibee and pointed somewhere I was confident no food chain stood. I turned him down politely, saying I was late for work. He rebutted I can ditch work and he'd just pay for whatever my shift amounts to. Shocked, I attempted to convince myself I was just hearing things. But he went on, delivering strings of madness my ears were not prepared for.

He introduced himself as Dante and showed me his hand to shake. Avoiding eye contact at all cost, I played mute and declined to shake his hand. He eventually realized I was not a friendly person and put down his hand. If he said something else after that, I wouldn't know. My heartbeats were deafening. Where the hell are the jeepneys when you badly need them?!

I immediately hailed the first jeepney that approached us. I didn't care if my hair would look asking for an exchange of banter anymore. I wanted to get away from him the soonest time possible. To my panic, he followed suit. I sat on the end of the jeep, behind the driver and beside the mother with a sobbing infant. I normally distance myself from kids but I didn't care anymore. I still refused to meet his eyes. I text barraged my closest friends about my ordeal. If he decided to attack me and do whatever he wanted to after, I know there would a group of people who would scour the earth for my lifeless body.

Thankfully, he didn't approach me anymore when the mother seated next to me went down and didn't dash to the same bus I did upon reaching Baclaran. What a relief!


lornadahl zebra-crossed at 22:52 ||

14.10.06

TITLE: LOUD
TAMBUCHO TALE #: 14
DESTINATION: BACLARAN
TRT: 30 MINS.

I'm running late for work one Thursday evening. It was almost 21:00 and I still haven't decided what to wear (read: waistline issues). For the past couple of months, I have my ears subscribed to Papa Dom's reggae show over the radio, except that certain Thursday night Milenyo was in town. Unwilling to miss that night's show, I turned my phone/radio into loudspeaker mode as I went on with my quest for a decent getup.

When I finally had my Eureka moment, it was already way past 21:00. I highly doubted if I'd make it on time for work. Yes, I dashed.

It was only until 5 minutes after I hopped in the FX when I realized I failed to go on headset mode! Not because I heard myself but because I fished for my phone from my bag to send someone a text message then I saw the shocking icon of loudspeaker. Immediately turning it off, I felt guilty to be the deliverer of hardcore reggae in full blast.

Everything was a painful slow motion since that realization: My decision to turn down pedicab drivers that night for a sprint walk, my 8-minute jeepney ride to Bayanan, the understandable hesitation of fellow FX passengers to make space for me. With my hands on my flushed face, I wanted to die.

In an attempt to channel out my embarrassment, I pushed my keypad with anger and confronted my brother Louie over text for not letting me know. He stopped me before leaving as I'm wearing his LPG (League of Pogi Gentlemen) shirt, fer gawd's sake! How heartless!

But then again, I also felt bad that nobody among the people in our neighborhood or village or fellow passengers poked and admonished me for being on loudspeaker mode. I would gladly tone it down, you know.


lornadahl zebra-crossed at 10:32 ||

10.10.06

TITLE: COMEBACK
TAMBUCHO TALE #: 13
DESTINATION: SAN NICOLAS
TRT: 15 MINS.

At the back of my head, it was just another tropical depression. This Milenyo might be signal # 3, but I was completely positive nothing would harm me. In fact, I stayed at the office after shift to go online and peruse my sadly forsaken inboxes. I turned down the offer for some beers. I was told it's too mahangin sa labas.

As soon as I have chosen my bus seat and snapped my earphones on both ears, I fell prey to the lullaby disguised as rock. This nirvana did not last too long; I felt my phone vibrate. It was my Mom, advising me to snooze at the office instead as Bacoor has transformed into a small town of soaring roofs (imagine the Angel of Tetanus in quest for her next victims) and she suspected I would face the inevitable deluge on my way home.

Too late. As I peered outside my window, I have realized Makati has transformed into Jumanji. The traffic is at its worst crawl. Some invisible force is uprooting trees and knocking signages down. And everyone on the bus was tense and impatient.

I managed to reach my beloved town in spite of our slow dance amidst Nature's suppressed wrath. I was down to my final jeepney ride. I was in Talaba and impatiently waiting to hail the next jeepney. Alas, the available ones were only bound to Zapote which means I had to have another jeepney to make it home. At this point, I was very unwilling to have a separate ride. As the clock ticks on, the Sogo signage just above my head is waiting to fall down and crush someone's skull. Not mine, I repeatedly whispered to myself.

Finally, my ticket to salvation arrived. A throng of people followed me climb the stairs. The sooner we got out of there, the better. The trip was more like an opportunity to view Milenyo's destructive visit. Everyone was a commentator, pointing and reacting to the flying objects outside. We welcomed the others' tales related to this tragedy. We were also glad that no flood threatened to make this heart-pumping trip all the more dangerous. I liked the part when one woman climbed down and attempted to open her umbrella to shield herself from the unspeakable powers. The people, in chorus, admonished her to drop it and brave the elements. It's fruitless and all the more fatal. It was as if we know one another for so long.

Reaching my village made me upheave a sigh of relief. Not until I noticed the pedicab driver was half my weight and realize the extent of the challenge he had to face. And not until I notice the other residents gawk in awe and suspense to the half-fastened roofs eager to break free then swiftly dart their attention to me. I felt like being watched if I'd make it alive. I felt like squeezing my eyes shut until I reach our garage but I just can't. Fortunately, the eternity finally came into a grand halt and, with all the energy that I can muster, I sprinted my way to my bed. I'm such a lucky bastard.


lornadahl zebra-crossed at 00:12 ||

7.10.05

TITLE: DOWNPOUR
TAMBUCHO TALE #: 12
DESTINATION: UP-DILIMAN
TRT: 10 MINS (SUPPOSEDLY)

One song goes, "Rainy days and Mondays always get me down".

I plotted to go to school earlier than the usual last Monday so I can research on my term paper. Imagine my frustration upon realizing no amphibian would survive the wild forces of air and rain that early afternoon. The loud tick-tocks enslaved my soul.

After several minutes, the elements remained unfriendly. The number of bored people in the Quezon Ave. station increased. Then came the news from the MRT management: whoever stays in the premises for an hour and 15 minutes would be charged Php15.00 for overstaying!

Madness, it is.


lornadahl zebra-crossed at 21:05 ||


By m|zT