“Working from seven to eleven every night…” Led Zeppelin
starts to sing and my dream with the muse was dismissed. It is another morning
my body says and I must shun away the demons of the bed. Because it is so hard
to get up and wash away the hangover of a nice relaxing sleep. Only to notice
that you must again face the reality of being a capitalist whore, a need for
mind setting is a must. For a person like me, convincing me through introspection
before standing up and preparing for work is a habit. Scratching head, throwing
the extra pillow to the other bed is always the start of my waking up tantrums.
At some cases, I am not like this especially when there is an appointment with
my loved ones.
As I looked at the clock, it deceives me at first
because I thought it is still 7:30. But when I checked my phone, it had already
snoozed ten times! Rushing downstairs, I grabbed my mug prepared some coffee, sipped
a little, and then rushed to the bathroom. There, I sang continuously, never
heeding the ranting voices of my aunt and cousin.At 9:10, I already got everything
prepped up! However, as I set forth away from the house, I realized that I
forgot something. DAMN! It’s my fucking necktie! I went back, fetchedthe little
thing, and rushed to the highway.As I waited for a jeepney ride, I didn’t get
quite lucky either. Instead of coming at work late, I decided to just hail a
cab with the faintest wish to salvage today’s office log in. I am not quite
sure if all these are meant to be happening or if everything’s just plain
coincidence.
Inside the cab, stress lingers for
time is running out. Looking at the digital clock, the numbers six and nine
annoys my eyes; it’s something like ‘you’re fucking dead meat if you’re going
to be late again’ shit. Nine and six has always been a part of my childhood, because
I used to have a classmate who is damn so religious. I remember that situation
when I was cursing my classmate in the vernacular (PUTANGINAMO!!!) he approach
me and slap my face. Shocked and awe resembles among my extremities, because I
can’t make any decision whether I should kick her in the ass or bitch slap her
ass. While in shocked, a prayer resonates like the sound of crumpling tin cans.
Irritating! Damn! Afterwards some of my classmates reacted when she shouts 666!
Get away from him; don’t get my classmate for he is a child from god. Fuck! Do
I look like a devil? Damn! And after my nerves went in, she actually told me
that I was possessed by an evil spirit, that’s why she slap me to the extent
that I almost forgotten my name! She keeps on talking about revelation and the
numbers 666 and 999. For the latter is god’s number and the former is fucking
devilish one! Ha! Believing in that stupidity is something like believing that
there is a something like except of nothing! Those numbers are just created in
order for people to be afraid, or whoever is the person who invented the
meanings behind those numbers; I will congratulate him, for he frightened 99%
of my stupid classmates when I was in fourth grade.
The taxi ride reminds of different things. Stories that
for some are stupid and irrelevant, everything goes as they say. Different
foolishness and philosophies are created through a single taxi ride. And I’ve
got this certain conclusion that taxi drivers are like barbers! Telling
‘supernatural’ stories about their experiences that sometimes they saved
someone who is in trouble and in return the cool taxi driver gets a fuck on a
gorgeous model he saved. That kind of stuff, anything goes. That sometimes the
driver experiences being snatched by a group of thieves and he manages to
escape them and hit them all that all of those bad kiddos end up in jail. Those
heroic deeds that even in the movies won’t happen. Sorry for this, taxi
drivers, but this is what I’ve noticed.
But there is always an exemption, for I don’t generalize
the totality of all taxi drivers, for my experiences always resides on the
partiality of the many. I’ve got my favorite taxi driver too, his name is
Travis Bickle. Alright you win, he’s not for real. He is a character played by
Robert de Niro some decades ago. He is actually the philosophical one, because
when he said that this should be this and this should be not, he will find a
way to make things right. And I’ve got a favorite scene in the movie, when the
senator who is candidate for presidency hops in Travis’ cab. The senator asks
what Travis wants when he won the elections, Travis replies that he wants to
cleanse the city. That washing away the dust and garbage of the society is the
necessary things rather than doing Pop-Politics. And when the senator heard
what Travis says, he nearly laughs for what my favorite taxi driver explained.
But the thing is, the senator didn’t understand that Travis pertains to the
thieves, pimps, gangs, and drug dealers that pollute the city of New York. If
all of the taxi drivers are as sensible as him, maybe I will always ride a taxi
instead of doing the usual bus-solitude trip. Anyways, the taxi driver that I
rode in was stupid for he actually don’t know the traffic rules and he actually
ended up surrendering his driver’s license. What a cost of delay damn!
When I woke up, I’ve got a jinxed feeling. I don’t know
why but the thing is I’m going to be late again. Even though you planned to be
early and motivated yourself, outside forces harasses the time that you’ve got.
And that taxi driver fucks my time! Though blaming isn’t good but it’s his
fault! When I arrived at Mr. Ortigas’ place, he actually reminded me of time,
the time arrives 9:58 at the back of the building, that’s when the time I’ve
texted our HR that I’m going to be late for a couple of minutes. Shame, for
I’ve managed my time and I even rode a fucking taxi! What a waste of time and
money! Damn!
My station is always the same, faces in front, side
(left and right) and back. But what’s special is, I always had a back up. Usual
killing time is on! To kill time is like sweeping leaves around the yard.
Choosing which one will be sweep first and which one will be the last. Letting
time flows until my first break reminded me of some gossips pertaining to
office politics, personal intrigues and conformism issues. What a waste of time
to deal with but sometimes it is kind of annoying especially when you’re one of
the casts of the tongue-play. And I’ve got a message to you Mr. ortigas, do you
know that your dwellers has a this issues? Could you please resolve it for me?
As if, you’re a amoral entity though you can’t make a way. I should leave them
until they’ve noticed that the time for them to clear up their garbage full
mind has been swept up by the hurricane of KidlatTahimik or the torrents of
Travis Bickle. Maybe I should’ve had my own catastrophe, and that is worth a
sitting for I should think of it first.
P.S. I hate to admit but to some extent conformism is a necessary thing,
in order for you to fuck it; the norms with it. You must be aware of the things
they deal with.
