Taxi Taxonomy

I used to work during the graveyard shift, and since the economic jeepney is unavailable, I often resort to taxi’s if I’m too lazy to walk from where the bus literally eject me (Hey, I always pay my fare!) which is in front of GMA7 (thus I live in constant fear of headlining the morning newscast, if I meet an accident in slow news day: “LALAKE BIYAK ANG UTAK,” or something equally morbid to be served in your breakfast dose of whatever happened last night). Anyway, forgive my predilection for parenthesis. So on to the real topic: TAXI DRIVERS.

I classify taxi drivers according to their law-abiding-ness (sounds like “kabading-ness” which is just as close). There are two kinds: those who drive as if all of Manila is an expressway and, those who have a knack for hitting the red light. Both of them I loathe. The former endangers my life (but saves my money) and the other endangers my pocket (I’m not sure if he is attempting to save my life, or his license, but damn those meters!) True, there are taxi-drivers who neither treat all of Manila as an expressway, and are law-abiding for no economic or pecuniary reason, but trust me, they’re rare. So rare, that a convention of taxonomist was held to declare them endangered. At least, in Manila they are.

When I was a kid, my father made me ride a caterpillar, and regretted it afterwards after I belched out my entire dinner to the people at our back. It’s comforting to know that nobody has yet come up to me and say, “Hey you’re that kid who vomited sinigang…” My stomach is easily upset. The LTO should discriminate against frustrated race car drivers. Or else, each time I ride a taxi, my dinner will be on the car floor before you say “Harrison Ford!” While they save me money on taxi fare, these drivers increases my insurance premium. Maybe, they are in conspiracy with funeral and burial plans. They make you realize that once you get out of your house, you are in danger. And thus, you need to get insurance. If you’re not rich enough to own and drive a car, you better get yourself an insurance if you rely on taxi drivers to transport your corporal self in one-piece from point A to Z. These taxi’s don’t have seatbelts, and have no cares for them.

The second sort of taxi drivers are those who are so law abiding they practically know that the stoplight is in red, up to Tomas Morato when you haven’t even turned into E. Rodriguez corner Araneta Avenue. These are taxi drivers that give you an ample time to view every funeral homes that lines Araneta Avenue, from Arlington up to St. Peters. They seem to take you to a tour: YOUR FUTURE FUNERAL HOME. The tour adds twenty-to fifty bucks from your usual fare.

What’s the moral of the story? If you ride taxi’s at night, buy an insurance. What else?

***

November 2, 2009

I was on errand this week to pay for a delivery we had ordered. I hailed a Taxi from Timog told him to wait for me. He told me that he would rather flag me down again, and wait for me for five minutes. Otherwise, he would be at loss. Now, I told him I work for the office of so and so, and I would not thrift him on the fare, but he continued to bewail the disadvantaged of waiting for me with the meter on. I assure him that I will not take long, because I will just be there to pay for the charge. But I guess, I was not talking his language which was in digits. So we didn't reached an agreement. I send him away instead. The delivery boy hailed me another taxi after I had paid. Some taxi drivers are just greedy.

DOG EATERS

DOG EATERS
23 JULY 2009, THURSDAY
(WARNING: CAN CAUSE LOSS OF APPETITE)

Yesterday, as I was walking toward my boarding house, a familiar smell assaulted my olfactory. Burning flesh. True to the memories it conjured, dead carcass of a dog was hanged on the wall of a ruined house. A man was inspecting it for parts that may not yet be well burned by the blue flame sprouting from his torch. Another man was waiting on him with a knife, perhaps to scrap the dog’s hair. A couple of middle-age men were sitting, and I could tell from the glint of their eyes that they were salivating for their about-to-be-served "pulutan"---the dog.

First, I am not a PETA fan, and I do not subscribe to the idea that animals have rights. But I am well aware of the obligation of humans to look after their welfare; after all, we cause the destruction of their natural habitat 99 out of 100 times. Some animals are meant to be eaten, and are raised for that purpose, like pigs (other from being eaten, I don’t know what other purpose they serve in our world). However, some are not meant to be eaten unless there’s scarcity of food or if it is a cultural thing.

I can not completely reconcile the fact that Filipinos had dogs domesticated in their abodes and the fact that some of us are eating them. Definitely, it’s not a cultural thing, or is it? You love dogs, you feed them because they are loyal, and they give you unconditional love. They guard your houses. And then, out of need of a "pulutan", you kill them, cook them, and serve them to your friends. If your practice goes by that routine, don’t even name your dog.

YOUR NEXT MEAL. Rare, medium-rare, or well-cooked?
Your maid without remorse relays the news to your neighbor's maid: "Kinatay na namin si Snow White, kasi birthday ni Kuya (More likely Kuya is a police! or one of his visitors is!). Mabait pa naman si Snow White, lagi niya akong sinasalubong tuwing paparating ako galing sa palingki. Pero, masarap pala ang aso no,. Gumuguhit. Ang init sa katawan." Right.

When I was in high school, I witnessed some of my cousins kill an old dog, because it’s old already. They put it a sack and repeatedly hit it in the head ( I did not exactly know where the "dos-por-dos" landed but it’s more dramatic if it hit the head). So my aunt’s dog while my aunt watch was literally being massacred by a group of drunkards (who were not yet drunk, by the way) who happens to be my cousins and their very friendly friends. Now, the dog was carried to the “sampalukan” (where two giant Sampaloc trees used to be, and where now, my uncle’s cottage stands) to be cooked. They made a bonfire, and threw in the dog. A few minutes later, I witness a burning dog running around like torch from Fantastic Four. The dog was not killed by the blows, but by the fire. It was traumatic, and every time I hear of dogs butchered this memory is conjured in my mind.

The odor polluted the air, and I was a bit flushed by the sight of drunkards gathering around the dog. I went to the store run by my landlord. I bought choco-nuts and a choc-bar (I eat chocolates whenever I feel down, and the butchered dog was a downer, that I didn’t even have an erection while perusing Playboy, just kidding)

“Amah, kumakain ka ba ng aso?”
“Hindi. Ikaw kumakain ka ba ng aso?”
“Hindi.” I was glad to find a kindred spirit.

Then, a two men with bloated bellies, one in white sando and the other in gray shirt who just returned a Matador brandy and exchanged it for Emperador with my landlord had this conversation within my hearing.

“Oh, aga-aga inom na agad ah” greeted the man in white sando. “Mamaya, lasing ka naman. Kumain ka na ba?
“Hindi pa nga eh.”

I have an idea what his next meal is, I stormed toward my room and went to sleep (didn’t sleep immediately really, but had a talk with my laundrywoman and arranged that she do my laundry today. Then, I slept.)

HOW LBC-SAN JOSE RUINED MY FATHER'S DAY SURPRISE

To whom it may concern:

So you’re LBC, huh? King of Send-out? (Hari ng Padala?) The one who can't spell REMITTANCE right.

My name is Lawrence P. Villamar. I had sent a package yesterday (That's Friday, 19th of June) for delivery on Father's Day. However, I found out that it was delivered today by your branch in San Jose, Occ. Mindoro. Your Trinoma branch informed me that my request could be accommodated, that even if I had sent it last Friday, and it arrived on today (Saturday), it could be delivered on Father's day Sunday.

I called Saturday morning at 8 am to confirm that package had arrived. I was running down on the info on the sender and to whom I sent it ("It's for Emilio... from Lawrence)--when the branch cut me to inform me that they are still sorting the just arrived packaged. How I was thrilled. Now, I was asked to call after an hour or so. I did call, and then found out that the delivery is on its way to deliver the package which had a note in bold written on it, asking the branch to deliver it on Sunday. For Pete's sake! Couldn't they have read the note? Now I wonder if your staffs are illiterate. I called to speak to the branch manager but he was not in. Your ill-trained staff in San Jose branch did not even offered solutions to my problem and I could imagine, he was wearing a dunce hat and it was becoming of him.

I was calling long distance using my mobile phone. But nobody in your San Jose branch could help me. (I could hear a ripping sound on my pocket. Some imaginary bills rolled out.) I called again and tried to solve my own problem, something that your company should have done in my case and do. I asked for the phone number of the delivery staff so I could contact him personally. However, to my disappointment and infuriation, your staff informed me that they do not have the cell phone number the delivery staff. Whaaaat!? How could that be? Shouldn’t it be a company policy that your delivery staff is always in touch of the branch? What if he ran away with my stuff! Well, that;s unlikely, but what if...! Your staff even reasoned that the guy goes back to the branch after delivery, which was irrelevant information since it beats the issue. I don’t want it delivered that day, I want it delivered on Father’s day because it’s a Father’s day gift, (you moron. Moron. Moron. It keeps popping in my mind, I thought I was hungry and was thinking of morcon, but all I really wanted to eat the guy on the other line, alive) And by the time the delivery guy comes back, it was already delivered.

How could it possibly be resolved? Your branch manager Joseph (that much I obtained from the staff who can’t even provide a full name, when I asked for the branch manager’s name, I might as well had asked for his nickname and found it as equally useful as Joseph. Joseph who?) was not even in. I called during business hours.

My father received it this afternoon. More than twelve hours before Father’s day, the count ending with the time he’s likely to be sleeping. It wasn’t even delivered to him directly, but to my uncle who handed it to my father. (Could it be that my uncle was moonlighting as your delivery guy?) Much to my distress, it could have been resolved if your San Jose branch have good communication and customer service skills. The message from the staffs that keeps on bleeping on my mind was: “I can’t help you with your problem. I'm sorry. I'm anill bred moron, but could you expect of a moron” But they could have, if only they tried. First, the staff misinformed me that it was on the way to be delivered that morning, when it was not delivered until the afternoon. Second, even so, if your staff kept a contact number with the delivery guy, my request---my very simple wish---could have been accommodated. But how fate could be cruel? I was stuck on the phone, helpless, while someone on the other line figured what’s the sum of one plus one.

I, an ordinary citizen, can not be accommodated. It was a simple request, but it was not granted. And your non-accommodation just ruined the timing and surprise of my (well, it’s supposed to be a surprise but no more---Thank you LBC San Jose, you sure know how to ruin someone’s day) surprise.

Imagine receiving a gift before the actual day. I would be grateful for it sure, but it would have been better if it was given on the actual day. If it could have been any better any other day, Santa Clause wouldn’t be out in the cold trotting the world on Christmas’s Eve just popping down on someone’s chimney to deliver from friggin’ gift. Imagine, receiving your gift a full year before Christmas. Would it be really for Christmas? Would it feel that way? It’s all about the timing man, and you LBC San Jose branch is out of tune, out of rhythm and out of timing.

I am circulating this complaint on the internet, and my social circles, not to slander but to inform of my social acquaintances of the dismal customer service your company seems to practice. It was a very simple request but your company can not accommodate it. You must then instruct your staffs of your company’s limitations and incompetence. Staffs who can’t read notes on packages. Managers who are not in during business hours. Staffs who doesn’t even have a clue how to contact the delivery guy.

More power (More intelligence, knowledge, so it follows i'm wishing you power. Here's to your IQ!)!

Lawrence .