Sounds like the start of a bad joke, but yesterday did find me driving down Roxas Blvd again, after successfully avoiding the place (i.e., the entire city of Manila) for well over 2 months. I’ve always disliked Manila; it’s more a lack of familiarity than anything else, but honest to God, every time I set foot in that city I expect to be harassed in some way. It’s never actually happened, but I’ve never lost that tingly, spider-sense feeling either, and so I steer as far away as possible from Quezon Blvd., P. Burgos, etc.
Nevertheless, it was on this blistering Monday that I found myself at Traders Hotel along Roxas Blvd. I had just come from a lunch meeting with a Korean who had seen my portfolio online and wanted a book designed. After spending 5 minutes backing out of the narrowest parking area you have ever fucking seen (I could literally reach out and pat the bumpers of the parked cars as I passed them), I was anxious to get home. I hated this place, goddammit.
Naturally, as soon as I got back on to Roxas, I found myself stuck in a traffic jam. It was just after 2 in the afternoon but there it was, nevertheless. Anyone who’s been stuck in a Philippine traffic jam knows how this works: your engine idles for 3 minutes, you see the traffic light in the distance turn green, you crawl forward a few feet. Wash, rinse, repeat. And so it went for several minutes. My mind began to wander, as I coaxed the car forward 5 meters, and I barely register the greasy beggar crossing the street two lanes away on my right. My car comes to a stop, blocking his path. Of course, I don’t think anything of it because I was expecting him to go around the car, like any self-respecting jay-walker would. Not this guy, though.
I hear a dull thud, and see that he has slammed right into my window on the shotgun side. There’s a bit of drool where his face connected with the glass, and my front windshield is covered in this white substance. For a moment I actually think that the fucker has vomited on the car, but I look closer and see that it’s actually old rice. When he picks himself up, I see that he was carrying a styro with food he had probably found in some garbage bin. I cannot imagine why he didn’t see my car in front of him, but when he peers in at me, I understand why: he’s only got one eye. He doesn’t have all that many teeth either, for that matter. His styro had been crushed and he was holding it to his chest like a dead pet. He was breathing pretty hard. Saliva is foaming out of his mouth and reaching for the concrete like steaming mozzarella.
We stare at each other for a long time.
The car behind me starts honking and I have to move forward again, this time almost a hundred meters or so. In the rearview mirror, I can see him running after me, weaving in and out of the moving cars. For a moment I am amazed at the sheer absurdity of the situation: I was being chased through traffic by a guy with no depth perception.
I look again, and can’t spot him, and for a moment, I think he’s gone. My stomach does a belly flop when I finally see him again, now two cars in front, looking in the windows. When he gets to my car, he recognizes me instantly. He’s close enough that I can see every detail of his face. He says, “Pagkain to o.” (This is food.)
He holds up the crushed container. In his other hand I see that he had time to pick up a rock. I couldn’t tell if his fingers were deformed or just so ragged that they didn’t look human. He leaned in closer, saying it again, “Pagkain to o.”
I get the distinct impression that this guy is mad. He leans a bit closer every time he says his line, the rock-wielding hand gets a little bit higher.
I am fucking dumbstruck. Around me, people are rolling down their windows and gawking. I can’t stop thinking, Oh Jesus, this car is a month old, how am I gonna explain a broken window to my folks.
There’s no way I’m talking my way out of this one, I know. Without the achingly-thin, fragile window between us, I was dead. I didn’t know what to do.
I kept looking around, but no one was making a move. It isn’t very often that a one-eyed psycho’d smash a car window and brutally maim the hapless geek inside over spilled rice, and I guess they were expecting a show.
And then, I saw it. Huge in my rearview, the bold red words SILUP. It was one of those big converted Revos, with sirens on the top and mayors’ names stenciled on the side. A sunburned face with a gargantuan pair of Raybans poked out of the side of the truck. He yelled, “Huy!”
One-eye looked up, sheepishly. I guess even psychos recognize the coppers. He said it again, walking towards the cop now, “Pagkain to o.”
I could hear the cop cursing, chasing him away. I let out a breath, my first one in over a minute it seemed. I saw the car in front of me start moving, and slammed the car into Drive.
I’d never been so glad to see the police in my life.