Before I begin today’s update I just want to thank Astig Mama for featuring my site on Blog Gems. Her write-up
made me cream my pants and now I’m wondering when I’ll start having
groupies. Thanks again. Now I have to stop masturbating my ego and
proceed with the update.

When I
was in my freshman year of college in UERM, I had this problem
justifying the cost of cab rides. For me, it was a difficult concept to
grasp, you see, paying someone by the kilometer to drive you a distance
you could cover on foot in half an hour. Not that I had a choice back
then considering I live in the boondocks somewhere between Caloocan and
Fairview and the only way I could get to school in time was to ride a
bus to Philcoa and get myself a cab from there to Sta. Mesa where the
University of the East med school was. But, the entire cab ride deal
still came off insane for me. Thousands of cab rides later though, I
came to an understanding that it’s not the mileage per se that you are
paying for; you’re shelling out money for the overall experience.
On the average, I spend around 80 pesos ($1.45 based on current rates)
on cab fare and what I failed to realize when I was younger was that
for 80 bucks, I got to ride around the metro with a total psychopath
who tailgates, weaves in and out of oncoming traffic, runs red lights,
all of these while yelling inventive cuss words at other drivers.

Who knows? He might even tell you his life story ala-Maalaala mo kaya.
He might share with you his story on how he successfully drove their
multi-million peso family business to bankruptcy or his stint as a
construction worker in some Middle Eastern country or how he used to be
a macho dancer.

I walked a quarter of a kilometer down Tandang Sora to where Glo-ri supermarket is. I figured I have considerably better chances of getting a cab here. I stand on a corner where Tandang Sora and
Commonwealth intersected and waited for an empty cab. I hate rush hour;
and the people who take cabs during rush hour; I mean they should be
more considerate of people like me who have more important matters to
attend to than getting home like they were.

I was at the gym earlier when Nisha called me up and told me to come over to her place which was somewhere over at Katipunan.
Since it’s just a couple of kilometers away, I figured it’d be smart to
just leave my car in the gym’s parking lot, just get myself a cab and
spare myself from all the stress driving presents. But fuck it, I
didn’t know it’s going to be a bitch hailing a cab in this area.

I whiled away time
kicking empty soda cans into the gutter and watching people walk out of
the 24 hour grocery store across the street carrying large plastic bags
brimming with food items. These idiots look like they’re stocking up
for a rainy day; now that I mention it, it looks like it is
going to rain. The smell of rain is riding heavily with the night
breeze now. Soon it will start coming down; not that I’m a pussy about
getting rained on mind you, but when you just came from the gym after
spending two hours working out, the idea of getting soaked in the rain
isn’t that appealing. It’s supposed to be unhealthy even, they say
getting rained on after working out in the gym causes your pancreas to
implode and you to contract syphilis.

I
spot a cab somewhere in the opposite lane across the street. I raise my
hand up in the air; I don’t know if he saw me but he did make a U-turn
across two lanes of traffic and parked in a weird angle to the curb
across me. Needless to say, he got quite an applause from the audience
for the little stunt he pulled. They registered their applause with car
horns and lots of cussing.

I
opened the door of the corolla and hopped in before the first raindrops
fell. The interior has a faint scent of Vicks vapor rub to it but was
fairly tidy. “Chief, I need you to get me to Katipunan, I know it’s not
that far but I’ll give you a handsome tip” I offered with the knowledge
that cab drivers are irked to say the least when you ask them to take
you somewhere not far enough for their meters to register more than 50
bucks.

“Alright.”
Says the driver with an accent I could immediately recognize as
Ilocano. He’s in his 50’s, ruffled white hair and was wearing the
requisite white button down. He looks pretty passive. He might even be
mentally stable. But he tried to strike up a conversation and I
realized that my initial impression of him couldn’t have been any more
wrong. We start talking about President Arroyo and the ongoing
political crisis besieging the Philippines—a topic I’m most bored with
if I might add, and how much Meralco and Maynilad is screwing us hard
working folk. I’ve
been in enough conversations with taxi drivers to know that this is
their favourite subject. If it’s not the government screwing you, it’s
the utility companies. Someone is always screwing us dammit.

He
pulls into Nisha’s condominium building just as the raindrops picked
up. The meter makes funny futuristic sounds as he shuts it off. 46
bucks.

I
dig a hundred out of my wallet and hand it to him. “Here you go chief,
keep the change. It was nice talking to you.” I say getting out of the
cab.

“Thanks!” he called out as I slammed the door, made a mad dash and darted through the building’s reception area.

I
tapped a staccato rhythm on Nisha’s door. “Come in Mike; I’m still
finishing up.” Came the reply. I entered and found Nisha washing dishes
with her back turned on me. She look’s pretty good from the back. Firm
ass emphasized by her tight fitting jeans. A bra strap hangs astray of
her slinky top dropping loosely over her right shoulder. I’ve never
appreciated this view of her before and what a sight to behold I tell
you.

She
kind of looks like Jodie Santa Maria; she has her hair cut that way and
pulled back in a neat ponytail. And god is she stacked or what? I could
make a wager that she could stand in any intersection and literally
stop traffic.

I try to imagine the traffic report on the radio: ‘Westbound Katipunan is bumper to bumper up from Ateneo to Blue Ridge.
There’s a ten car collision in the Katipunan-Aurora intersection. A
bombshell with really large boobs wearing a slinky top has traffic in a
virtual standstill for four kilometres on the approach…’

She catches me assessing her behind. Fuck it. “Where are we going Nixie?” I just asked.

She
smiles at me obviously taking in what I was wearing more than paying
attention to my question. “You look really…athletic tonight Mike.” She
says referring to my sweaty shirt, my basketball shorts and my cross
trainers.

“You look hot yourself, thank you.” I replied.

There’s
definitely something about the way Nisha smiles that causes my mind to
dig through the boxes of archives locked up in a room somewhere in my
brain. All of a sudden, this childhood memory permeates my thoughts. I
suddenly remember a day in grade school. I was really young, seven or
eight years old maybe.

There
was this classmate of mine, a girl, dared me to touch a wall socket in
our class room that is bared; its innards showing for some reason. “Para ka lang kinagat ng langgam!” she swore, raising her right hand and all that kiddy dare stuff.

I touched the bare wirings and practically got knocked out of my mighty kids by the electrical current.

So why am I remembering this? I’m sure she’s not the same girl. She has the same smile I guess.

“We’re going drinking!” She says answering my question finally.

“What?!
You should’ve told me man, I could’ve changed into something more
appropriate.” I said wiping my wet face with my shirt. I’m a slob like
that.

“There’s
no such thing as appropriate drinking clothes Mike, you should know
that…hey! Nice boxers!” She says noticing the waistband of my yellow
boxers that was sticking out of my shorts after I lifted my shirt to
wipe my face.

“Oh yeah, I just got them, and they’re now my favourite pair.”

“Let me see!” Nisha says with her arms crossed, biting her lower lip.

“What?!” Did I hear that right?

“I want to see them Mike.” She repeats adapting a more stern tone.

I
decide to act like ice and it’s no big deal. After all, if there’s one
thing I’m insecure about it has to be my flabby upper body; my lower
body is passable to say the least. I slide my basketball shorts down to
my knees.

“That
IS nice!” she says walking up to me feeling the waist band. I’m sure
the hair on the back of my neck went up with some other part of my
anatomy as she did.

“Rawrrr!” I said trying to end the awkward moment. “So where are we drinking?” I ask.

“I don’t know yet, let’s drive around shall we? I’ll drive.” She said, still feeling my waistband.

This is going to be another long night.