Kitty Litter

One of the advantages—and I use the term loosely—of being a commuter to Manila is the many stories you can tell of what transpires during your trip.

(Allow me to clarify one thing now: a commuter is anyone who travels, whether on foot, rickety jeepney, rotten car, helicopter, or MRT. But let’s stick to the groundlings like myself for now.)

I go to different car washes when I can, and I am often embarrassed by how dirty my car gets after a mere three days in Manila. When I was still in UP, I only needed to clean my car once every two weeks; in Manila, miss one week cleaning your car and things begin to come alive in places where the sun shouldn’t shine.

The dirt comes from many different sources; my least favorite are the jeepney drivers who clear their nostrils willy-nilly into the road. Other human waste I’ve seen strewn about on Manila roads include urine (from a jeep laden with returning holidaymakers), the ubiquitous spit, and human feces—the squatters along the railroad tracks in Manila delight in throwing arinolas and plastic bags filled with shit at the passing train. I can only assume there’s a points-and-rewards system in place.

How on earth will you explain that hardened yellow gob of snot on the passenger side of your car? It’s the kind of thing that makes car wash boys back off and charge ten bucks extra.

I watched one driver while stuck in traffic a while ago. Not content to “phone home” with plenty of gusto, he happily rolled his bogies into tiny cannonballs and flung them out the window. Then he would receive payments from passengers and make change with the same hand he used to pick his nose (yet another reason not to take a jeep). When the, uh, strain in his nose grew too much to bear, he alternately depressed one nostril while energetically blowing unidentified yellow-green matter from the other…in the general direction of my car. I know it’s stupid but I deliberately plowed into floodwater on that side of the car. My car can’t die of leptospirosis now, can it? (If it can, oh siyet.)

While I know that toilet paper is a luxury these drivers are unwilling to give up their daily Philip Morrises or San Miguels for, I just wish they’d aim elsewhere. Like at their fellow drivers. Of course that will lead to a fight, but you’re not truly Pinoy if you’ve never egged two combatants on, ever.

When I began working for the Bulletin, one of the delights I encountered early on were the naked men who litter the streets here and delight in displaying their 'meaty' wares to passersby. One such specimen walked slowly and deliberately towards my car, all the while fixing a manic stare on my plate number and 'choking the chicken'. I can only suppose my plates really turned him on, but I didn’t stick around to find out; I nearly smashed into a jeepney cutting into the next lane so that my car could escape his unwanted attentions.

But the most fun you have when commuting is trying to figure out the WTF (what the fuck?) moments. For instance, stuck on Lacson, Wynn and I once saw a guy selling fishing poles (which in itself is a WTF situation; who buys those things?) scurrying for cover, wending between cars in an effort to escape something, all the while glancing over his shoulder.

Ten seconds later, two men came pounding after him. One was a big, bald bloke sans shirt, with the kind of physique that makes young girls want to turn lesbian. It invoked images of Baliwag lechon to me. He was armed with a lethal looking bolo, and if we’d been in a cartoon, sparks would’ve glinted off his eyes. The other was skinny, and he raced behind the lechon guy, determinedly clutching…a pair of large rocks.

Had they been cheated somehow? Did they take their poles on a fishing trip only to find out they could reel in nothing bigger than a tawilis? Or had the fishing pole guy poked one of them with his wares?

Only Manila knows, and she can keep her secrets.

So. Have you got a commuting story too?

Labels: funny yucky stuff, horrors of driving