Jeepney, FX, and Bus Chronicles 1
02/09/06
A person who picks nose may not be all bad news...
when that person is somebody who helps you get a seat in an overcrowded bus. At least that's whom I bumped into early this morning on my way to work.
Buses that ply in one of the oldest streets of Manila, the España Boulevard, are fast, as they do not make hundreds of stopovers from point of origin to point of destination. What's more, riding in these enclosed buses does not make you end up smelling like laundry. But sadly, these buses are a rare breed and are difficult to catch.
This morning my sister and I boarded an España bus. Not suprisingly all spaces were taken--the seats and the area that should have been the aisle. If the bus were a glass, it was filled with water except for the spaces occupied by bubbles, which are actually small spaces in the bus that must be maintained for the sake of those who have to get off.
As I was having the time of my life waiting for a chance to be seated, I noticed how smart the girl beside me looked. Her nails were smartly trimmed, with shiny French tips. Her hair was smartly accented with highlights, which I thought coudl have made my mother pretty if it was made on her hair. She was also wearing a metallic wristwatch, which looked smart even without a recognizable brand name. I thought this girl is as far a New York girl Manila can have.
Minutes later, I had to turn away from her to get nearer my sister, who by this time had already managed to grab a seat. She should be getting off any minute now, so I had to protect my claim to the coveted throne. Then a startling thing happened: I saw from the corner of my eye, the New Yorkquish girl picking her nose. I shared the ugly sight with my sister. And we had our urban sensibilties appeased by making fun of the creature.
But some cosmic force didn's seem to mind. In fact the force may have been sympathetic to these species. It hit me with a counterwarning that persons should not be judged by their habit of picking nose. That is because seconds later, after having a nice laugh with my sister, the girl tugged at my sleeve (perhaps with the hand to which the finger she used in her recently concluded olfactory ritual was attached), then asked me to occupy her seat, as she was already about to disembark.
I felt a sudden gush of blood in my face. I felt the only fun I had since boarding the bus shattered into shards of shame which lunged at my lungs. But this time I didn't share it with my sister. I guess she also felt the same way.
Lesson learned from bus ride 02/09: French tips may not advisable for habitual nose-pickers.
A person who picks nose may not be all bad news...
when that person is somebody who helps you get a seat in an overcrowded bus. At least that's whom I bumped into early this morning on my way to work.
Buses that ply in one of the oldest streets of Manila, the España Boulevard, are fast, as they do not make hundreds of stopovers from point of origin to point of destination. What's more, riding in these enclosed buses does not make you end up smelling like laundry. But sadly, these buses are a rare breed and are difficult to catch.
This morning my sister and I boarded an España bus. Not suprisingly all spaces were taken--the seats and the area that should have been the aisle. If the bus were a glass, it was filled with water except for the spaces occupied by bubbles, which are actually small spaces in the bus that must be maintained for the sake of those who have to get off.
As I was having the time of my life waiting for a chance to be seated, I noticed how smart the girl beside me looked. Her nails were smartly trimmed, with shiny French tips. Her hair was smartly accented with highlights, which I thought coudl have made my mother pretty if it was made on her hair. She was also wearing a metallic wristwatch, which looked smart even without a recognizable brand name. I thought this girl is as far a New York girl Manila can have.
Minutes later, I had to turn away from her to get nearer my sister, who by this time had already managed to grab a seat. She should be getting off any minute now, so I had to protect my claim to the coveted throne. Then a startling thing happened: I saw from the corner of my eye, the New Yorkquish girl picking her nose. I shared the ugly sight with my sister. And we had our urban sensibilties appeased by making fun of the creature.
But some cosmic force didn's seem to mind. In fact the force may have been sympathetic to these species. It hit me with a counterwarning that persons should not be judged by their habit of picking nose. That is because seconds later, after having a nice laugh with my sister, the girl tugged at my sleeve (perhaps with the hand to which the finger she used in her recently concluded olfactory ritual was attached), then asked me to occupy her seat, as she was already about to disembark.
I felt a sudden gush of blood in my face. I felt the only fun I had since boarding the bus shattered into shards of shame which lunged at my lungs. But this time I didn't share it with my sister. I guess she also felt the same way.
Lesson learned from bus ride 02/09: French tips may not advisable for habitual nose-pickers.
posted by maria at aga at 2:03 AM
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