One day of the year 2009, I rode my car going to work. When I arrived, I took my bag and jacket and exited the vehicle, rode the elevator to the 5th floor, logged in and went to my workstation. And, I found out later that I forgot the  key of my car. I just waited for my lunch break before Oliver and Ryan (my co-employee)  accompany me back to my car. I used the bottom of a fork to force open the trunk of my car and only to find out that the key were not in there. Both of them laugh at me. I did not forgot my key in the car instead I forgot I had put it inside my bag before leaving my car that day. Whew!

During my last year as a college student in University of the Philippines in the Visayas (UPV), I worked as a developer of Computerized Registration and Student Information System (CRSIS) for the office of the Registrar. This is a project based and the compensation is given once the job is finished. This job helped me a lot in my financial needs during that last semester. And I was very thankful to the registrar that time, Prof. M. Alcarde, for giving me the opportunity to work with them even though I am still finishing my college that time.

I have had many bad experiences with UPV staffs but I’ll tell the stories about them later on a separate post. This one happened in the Office of Vice Chancellor for Academic Affairs (OVCAA) one morning of the last semester of my college days. I already finished the project assigned to me and therefore I  applied for the release of my compensation. The documents needed to be processed in a “systematic order” where it should be approved by offices related to the project. I expected my documents will be processed for about a week or two. But more than three weeks have passed and still I have not heard anything about my compensation so tried to trace where my documents got stranded. So I went to each offices from the first office where the papers should go and up, and my papers was tracked down in OVCAA. I asked the office who forwarded my papers to the OVCAA when did they submit my papers to OVCAA and they told me it was more than a week ago. I was pissed off of course. So I went to OVCAA and asked them about my papers and what cause the delay. They tried to find my papers and they found it under a pile of other NEW documents and that is why it was not processed. So i told them that I was waiting for my compensation for about a month already and only to find out it was lost under some pile of their documents. Some woman working in that office told me that I should have followed up my papers. What an excuse they have so I told them (including other employees on that office especially the one near the door because she is the one in charged for my paper), “Why do I need to follow up on my papers? If you are only doing your job, we don’t need to follow things up. I am frustrated that I am doing my job and OTHERS don’t. Good bye!” When I got back to the office,  my office mate told me that someone from OVCAA asked her if I was really working at our office. For what purpose why they called and asked if I was working there? Or were they trying to avenge the humiliation they got from me? Such a bunch of losers.

That afternoon, my papers were already in the payroll department and ready to be release tomorrow of that day. Thanks to those worthless staff, we are paying them with our taxes for nothing.

My mother told me this story of her when she was buying ceramic plates in one of the department store here in our place. This was the time when our family was very unstable financially that a centavo of our Philippine peso counts.

One day, my mother earn about 60 pesos from selling a certain good. I forgot what it is. This was around 1990’s and 60pesos is not that much. She was happy to earn even if it is just a small amount, and that she decided to buy ceramic plates.

My mother is very fond of buying things even until now. Well, maybe because she have not enjoyed it when she was young because after graduating valedictorian in Elementary school, she worked to support her younger siblings to finish their schooling. Although she was second to the oldest, the responsibility of supporting their family was given to her because their oldest sister married very young.

Back to the story, my mother went to a department store to buy the ceramic plates. She have chosen a good quality that each one cost around 30pesos each and therefore she could ONLY buy two (2) pieces. So she tried to check for the quality of the plates. She was very focus on the checking the quality of the plates that she have not noticed that the top of the CLOSED carton box where she had put the plate that she had just finished checking is not CLOSED and is empty. When she had set aside the first plate she had chosen on top of that carton box, the top of the box opened and the plate slipped down straight to the floor and broke into two (2) ppeices. With the little amount of money and an expensive plate that is broken, my mother was very frustrated. She planned to buy the plates to reward herself but only to end up like this, who won’t get frustrated. With this feeling that had build up  in an instant, she grabbed the two (2) pieces of the broken plate and held each piece on each hand. With all the force from the built emotion of frustration and dismayed, throws each piece on the floor. And those two broken (2) pieces were broken into hundred smaller pieces, even more, and ended up scattered throughout the floor. Having heard the crashing sound produced by the converted kinetic energy of the inelastic collision of the pieces of the plate to the floor, sales ladies of that department store rushed to the scene. My mother looked at them and said, “I will pay for it.” And my mother went to the cashier right away and paid the two (2) plates. One plate in very good condition and the other one broken into the hundred pieces of frustration.

Cost of one plate in good condition: 30pesos.
Cost of one plate broken into smaller pieces of frustration: priceless.

This story happens in a baggage counter in one of the supermarkets here in our place.

My wife and I usually go to supermarket to buy groceries. I usually dress with sando, shorts and slippers so I don’t really look nice that day. Upon arrival in the supermarket, we went directly to the baggage counter to leave our things to lessen the burden we are carrying. When I arrived in the baggage counter, the Claim section was not organized. People don’t fall in line properly. They just try to insert themselves to get into the “line” first. Anyway, the Deposit section is not that crowded with people so I was able to leave our things easily in the baggage counter and we went inside the supermarket to buy our stuffs. We fall in line in the cashier after gathering all the stuffs we need, pay for the goods and after that went back to the baggage counter to get our things back. So I went back to the baggage counter and fall in line in the Claim section even though the line was not that defined. Besides the signboard with the phrase “Please Fall In Line”, I usually do fall in line to make things organized even though they are not. After the crowd in front of me trimmed down to just one (1) person, a “lady” wearing a standard office dress inserted herself right next to the person in front of me. You can really tell that this “lady” has attended school and can read and understand the sign board in front of us - the sign board that says “Please Fall In Line”. She was in her late forties just to give you an idea how old she was then. So I was really pissed off after waiting in an unorganized line just to be over taken with a lady with “manners”.

If you were in my shoes, would you just let it pass? Most of us would just let it pass just to avoid trouble. But, try to think of it this way. It is just like cancer. If we don’t remove it from the system early, it will spread exponentially and it will be unstoppable later on. People will tend to abuse especially Filipino.

Having my blood rise to a temperature that triggers the alarm to “RED ALERT”, I burst into a cold explosion to stop the rising temperature while I retaliate back at the lady with “manners”. This is what happened, the person in charged in the baggage counter also heard this.

Me: The problem with us is that a simple instruction - Please Fall In Line - is very hard for us to follow!
Lady with “manners”: It should be the person in charged in the baggage counter that you should blame for this and that he should be the one telling us to fall in line.
Me: It is the responsibility of the person in baggage counter to serve us on our baggage needs, and it is OUR responsibility to fall in line.
Lady with “manners”: You should have told me in a lower tone.
Me: You are already old enough and yet you still can’t follow. A louder voice will make an emphasis.
Talking to the person in the baggage counter irritated:
Lady with “manners”: Okay, serve him first before me.
Me: Damage has been done madam. You already made a mistake and there is no way you can redeem yourself. And besides, you don’t have to tell him that. It is obvious that I should be the one to be served right before you, isn’t it?

I know she was humiliated that time in front of people around us listening to our conversation. Thanks to her, she made may day!

This story was from my high school classmate Anthony. He posted this story in facebook. I just copy pasted the text here. Enjoy!

Dahil sa request, ilalahad ko ang aking karanasan sa macdo sa Milan.

Kumain ako sa MacDo sa Milan. Background lang, sa MIlan, kahit saang sulok ka malingat, merong pinoy. Yong MacDo dun sa harap ng Central Train Station ng Milan,halos lahat ng crew dun ay pinoy, sabay yong mga customers, 80 to 90 percent ng nakatambay dun ay mga pinoy. Sguro, sa mga 10 beses na napunta ako sa Milan, dumadaan talaga ako dun sa macdo para kumain habang naghihintay ng train. ganun ka-notorious na pinoy enclave ang macdo na yan na kung ikaw ay milanese, iiwasan mo na nga yang “ghetto” na yan and tumawid na lang sa macdo sa other side.

Anyway, medyo punuan nung time na yon at walang bakanteng upuan. merong 3 pinay and may vacant table sa tabi nila. lumapit ako and nagtanong in tagalog kung pwede ako umupo dun (magkadikit kasi na table). bigla silang nagtinginan naparang nakakita ng extra-terrestrial, then yong mga expression sa mukha ay pawang sumasagot na: “non parliamo filipino, siamo nato in italia” (di daw sila marunong mag-tagalog, sa italy na raw sila pinanganak).

medyo kumulo ang aking dugong elitista na minana ko sa aking angkang mga panginoong maylupa coz mukha naman silang DH (no offense, pero may mga pilipina naman talagang mukhang DH, kahit pagbalik-baliktarin mo ang mundo at baluntin mo sila ng versace at armani ng italia, mukhang DH pa rin sila. walang kokontra).

so anyway, translate to italian ko naman ang aking question: “me posso sedere qua?”

abah, naintindihan na nila dahil italian na ang tanong ko.

so yun, kain-kain, sabay sila, kwentu-kwentuhan, putak ng putak among themselves in italian, although para namang batangueno ang accent at alam mo namang natuto lang ng italian sa binibigay na free italian lessons ng Filipino parish sa Milan.

Basta kung isipin mo lang, halos lahat ng pinoy marunong mag-english, pero malalaman mo naman kung sino ang pinalaking nagsasalita ng english at kung sino ang natuto sa mababang paaralan at yong tumanggap ng call center accent training (pasintabi, no offense uli).

at sa wari ko, ang pinag-uusapan nila ay na-iirita sila sa mga pinoy na bagong salta at inaakalang lahat ng pinoy sa italy ay mga marunong mag-tagalog.

steady lang ako, nakikinig sa usapan.

pagkatapos kong kumain, nag-scuzza ako sa kanila.

“scuzzi, kung magpapalinis ako ng bahay, saan ko kayo pwedeng tawagan at magkano ang per oras nyo?”

biglang sumama ang mga mukha nila at naghahalong ngit-ngit na parang biglang naka-alala na kelangan pala nilang magpanggap na hindi sila nakakaintindi ng tagalog, ganun ang reaksiyon. pero biglang tahimik silang 3.

and i quietly walked away.

Baccione!

This story was told by my mother when she and my sister went to the city health office to acquire a health permit for my sister.

Usually, the city health office do business around 8am but it is already open at 7am. And people who have business with the city health office go earlier than 7am just to acquire a priority number. Only thirty (30) priority numbers are available in the morning and another thirty (30) in the afternoon. When my mother and my sister arrived that morning, there are people who already had priority numbers and waiting for 8am to do business with the city health office. So my mother and my sister went directly to the lady who is in charge with the distribution of the priority numbers. But, when they ask the lady for a priority number, the lady told them that there are no more priority numbers left for that morning. So they move out from the desk of that lady. But, my mother had a hunch that something fishy is going on. So she counted the number of person who have priority numbers while they are leaving the desk and found out that were only around twenty (20) person who has a priority number. She double checked thinking that she might have missed something but still it is around twenty people who have priority number. My mother told my sister to stay for a while. About five minutes after that, an army soldier in full battle gear - in fatigue uniform, combat boots, an army bag and with an Armalite TM (a brand of a rifle) - approach the desk of the lady who is distributing the priority number. About ten seconds of conversation, the lady pulls out a priority number #6 and gave it to the army soldier.

Do you know that I can still feel the rush of emotion in me while writing this story? Same feeling the first time my mother told me this story. I think you too can feel what I am feeling. Like a volcano that is about to errupt, my mother and my sister approach the desk of the lady again. With the army soldier still near the desk, my mother said to the lady (translated) “Miss, you could have told me that you needed an armalite. I could have brought one for you to give me a priority number.” The lady pulled the priority number #2 and gave it to my mother.

This is Philippines so expect more of this especially on public offices.

Hello everyone!

A decade of life means a decade of stories. But there are stories that we really can’t forget. They are bright colored dots that can easily be seen in dark background of our life. Some may see it as a blot of black ink in a white shirt. Whatever way you see it, even how small they are, they still stand out from the rest. They bring us the memory of our extreme emotions.

Welcome and enjoy the stories from my own experiences and also from other people who had shared them with me.