April, 2000
on LocalVibe.com
My lovely
fiancee Agnes has been away in California for a year and 2 months, tasting
life in a first-world nation where everything works (mostly) and car horns
are used only in emergencies. So it is with no surprise that upon her
return early this month to help prepare for the big matrimonial ceremony
- she immediately notices the changes in our city: the traffic and the
drivers and the heat. Stuff you take for granted, stuff you numb yourself
to in order to survive the daily commute. Stuff you never really notice
anymore. (Or risk cardiac arrests.) Stuff, that actually is FUNNY if you
have a warped sense of humor like I do. FEELING
LUCKY AT THE MRT? But Agnes?
After the great build-up I give the Metrostar Express, she hops onboard
and tells me it is probably the only mass transit system that re-opens
its doors when the driver sees some late commuters rushing towards it,
and not making it on time.
THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE
It
HAS to be one of the best things to come along in the life of an EDSA
commuter. Fifteen minutes from the GMA/Kamuning station till Buendia.
Speed of travel, ample air-conditioning, no traffic lights, no ibabaw/ilalim
confusion, no congested intersections. The MRT has made a believer of
me. See, I'm already on my second Stored Value card.
Of course it HAS to happen that on the ride back, it takes 20 minutes
of antsy waiting before an announcer tells us there are technical difficulties
and that a train is not forthcoming. Five trains have passed by on the
other side and a good forty minutes have ticked away before something
finally comes. Agnes is fuming. Actually, so am I. So much for the pride
of the EDSA commuter. Apparently even on the MRT, luck is a big factor.
SMOKE CITY
"Ang
itim-itim ng usok! Ano ba iyan?" She tells me while we traverse Taft
Avenue heading for the city hall where we must pick up her birth certificate
(which you need for the marriage license, by the way). I look around and
notice nothing spectacularly different but then again, I've never been
to a country where smog tests are done on every vehicle to ascertain their
polluting power. Imagine if they had those tests on buses? Sigh. We CAN
dream, can't we?
Ten minutes after getting home I just happen to pick my nose. True enough the thick black smog has infiltrated my nose hair and left its residue.
EXPRESS LANES AND ROAD RULES
"There
are designated lanes, but I don't know what's wrong with drivers here.
They can't stay in their lanes, they can't follow traffic signs, they
make up their own rules."
This is said as an overloaded Jell Transit bus cuts off the car we are in and overtakes us - from the right. Thank goodness I don't have a driver's license. I shudder to think how I'd react to something like that happening to me.
Reminds me
of this crazy dude I know who cuts off those who've cut him off, loudly
shouting expletives at the drivers while keeping his hand hidden in the
glove compartment. Even if he drives alone, the other drivers dare not
retaliate, for fear of that hand in the glove compartment-which may just
be holding a gun. Actually, he only squeezes the car registration. But
the pretense is enough.
PEDESTRIANS
AND CROSSINGS
"And
pedestrians! They cross streets as if they were lovers walking under the
moon in some deserted beach villa."
I argue with her that a lot of cars are to blame, too-for not slowing down at zebra crossings or designated pedestrian zones. But then I've found myself staring down vehicles as I force myself across a road. I figure, if they run me over at least I'll know what they look like and may haunt them in my ghost form.
Agnes tells me, "It really all boils down to etiquette. Of drivers, of pedestrians. The problem is: there is NO etiquette."
Five minutes later, a taxicab driver cusses a young man crossing the road while texting. "Putang-ina, tumingin-tingin naman kayo sa dinadaanan ninyo!"
TAXING TAXIS
And
speaking of cabs... One of them tells us "Makati? Dagdagan niyo na
lang. Ma-traffic kasi diyan, eh."
I argue,
"Sus! Ma-traffic naman kahit saan." But it is fruitless. There
aren't any other cabs in sight. We hop in. After an exhausting day hunting
down baptismal certificates and barangay clearances, taxi fare extortion
is not the most appealing of rewards. I fume in my seat.
It is Agnes who tells me, sarcastically: "Parang 'di ka na nasanay."
We laugh.
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