Sinking in Bottomless Mush, 2

Strike 3: I queued up again; this time at the tail end. After three hell-like minutes, my turn arrived. “Shaw Station,” I ordered the cabbie. I clutched the papers closer this time for fear I might loose it again. Nothing happened, except when I crawled out of the cab, I tripped and almost spilled my coffee. 4:30pm.

Strike 4: This time I was beginning to doubt my existence; had I been placed in this world as a proof of man’s misfortune? Since I was already 30 minutes late, I decided not to panic and … well … move slowly and carefully. The faster my pace was, the more delay-opportunities I got myself entangled with.

So I went up the ticket booth and although I was dismayed by the long queue, I still remained calm. I got my ticket, went though the guard’s electronic black palo-palo and the usual kapkap-up-to-the-crotch and descended to the platform.

Amazingly, after only a minute of waiting, the train arrived. It went smoothly, thank god; until I realized I was on the wrong train! I was supposed to be headed southward, the train I boarded was North bound. Worse, I only realized this after four stations. 4:45pm.

Strike 5: What was supposed to be just four stops from the office, now became a whooping nine stops! I’m 9 stations away from my destination, four cities away and a couple of Php’s poorer. I still kept on reassuring myself that it’s way better than to be ran over by the train. It was alright, I thought; even though half of me was screaming “Are you kidding me!? You’re almost an hour late, dummy! It’s not friggin’ alright!"

The usual protocol / chain of useless procedures (Side note: How do they know kung bomb nga yung nag-eep-eep na yun?) I got out, fed my plastic ticket into the machines, made another purchase, went down the platform, waited for another ten minutes, and got on the train. 4:55pm.

Strike 6: The train arrived. There were tons of people trying to get in and an equal number of human bodies trying to get out. People were pushing each other. I, on the other hand, desperately tried to shove my small frame, pitting myself against the mass of people pushing in every direction.

Pushing, shoving, yanking, pulling, shouting when – Bam! – a King kong ran into me, spilling my coffee into my shirt … and the documents! The friggin’ documents! The same documents I was guarding with my life the whole time.

A sudden urge engulfed me; an impulse that even a serial killer or a nymphomaniac wouldn’t be able to contain. I wanted to spit on everyone’s faces, kick everyone’s teeth in, smash everyone’s heads like watermelons, grind their testicles and feed them to the pigs. I wanted to massacre everybody.

(to be concluded…)