BETTER early than sorry, was my
motto for my trip back to Bacolod City
from Manila a week before Christmas.
That wisdom is from experience.
When I was in college, I often caught my flights home at the last
minute during the Christmas break, until one time, my luck ran
out. The wall of the pre-departure area separating the early from
those who were late was made of glass. My roommate, Debbie
Garcia, now a dermatologist, was already inside and I was
outside when passengers were called for boarding. Accepting
the inevitable, I shouted for her to tell my parents I will make it
home all right.
This was the 23rd of December, and all flights were booked up
to a week after the New Year. The fainthearted would have
given up, but having trained in a university where the motto
''Never say die'' was invented, I then proceeded to survey the
area for company, and found, as willing comrades, other
students. In unison, we continuously barraged the Philippine
Airlines clerk for an extra flight. In the evening, we settled down
with our backs on the wall, seated on the concrete floor. For us
students, this was the normal sitting position and we didn't
mind. The only problem was, by this time I had little money left,
and I suppose, the same with the others.
But lo and behold, the overseas workers came. Out came the
chocolates, the booze and the playing cards. Black jack and
pusoy kept us up all night, taking turns sleeping to make sure
we had the energy to storm the PAL manager's castle the
following day.
In the morning, the manager, having weighed the consequences
of having rowdy, broke students and intoxicated, homesick
overseas workers for days and nights in his entrance lobby, put
us all on special flights to Bacolod and wherever we wanted to
go.
So this time, I was not taking any chances. To catch my four
o'clock flight I had to leave by 12, giving allowance for the
horrendous traffic no doubt caused by shoppers. I nearly had to
''carnap'' a cab, but since that is not a bailable offense, I bribed
the cab driver instead. I estimated it would take me at the worst,
two hours to get to the airport.
I was somewhat disappointed that I got to the airport before one
o'clock, because that meant having to wait for the check-in
counter to open at two. But this would make my life easier, I
thought.
I was wrong. Outside the check-in area were more than a
hundred people, some seated, some lying down on the floor
with their luggage and boxes. For years, nobody bothered to
expand the terminal and they kept charging us terminal fee.
There was a shouting mob in front of the desks with the sign
''wait-listed passengers.'' It occurred to me that I had to hurdle
that mob before I could get to where my favorite hopia mongo
was located. I surveyed the obstacle, and not feeling up to it
after a late-night out, decided that the porter would do a better
job.
The check-in area was a riot. From experience, I immediately
checked for the coolest spots, in front of air-conditioners. Each
comfortable square feet was taken, but the spot near the
ensaymada stall, just beside the entrance to the pre-departure
area, was, by some miracle, open.
While singing ''Let It Snow,'' (which I often sing to cool down), I
arranged my box of books and bag and sat on the box, leaning
on the wall. Stretching my legs, I surveyed the area for some
envious eyes but found none. As soon as passengers lined up
to enter the pre-departure area, I realized why.
I must have either been invisible to those too busy to think of
anything other than getting in there, or amusing. A little girl,
hanging on to her mother's pants, checked me out. I stared back
at her with the message, ''Yes, I am a primate, but it's not what
you think, kiddo.'' To camouflage my situation, I opened Gabriel
Garcia Marquez's ''Strange Pilgrims'' and was immediately taken
to another place and time.
I would surface from time to time, to stretch my neck and
observe people's faces and conversations. I took pictures in my
mind, wishing I brought a camera. I decided to have a contest. A
young man sat on the check-in counter (yes, on the ledge of the
counter) of PAL, right hand holding his head, elbow resting on
his right knee. He wore light cotton pants and sandals. Beside
him there was a bottle of water, and a plastic bag. He won first
place. Drag the gold ribbon and click, pin it on his knee.
A male overseas worker, in denim jacket, checked in his nine
huge boxes from Saudi. He worked in a desalinization plant of an
oil refinery, he said, ''sa takas (on the shore).'' He won second
place. Click the ribbon on the box as he drags it to the
complaining weighing scale.
A man lined up to enter the pre-departure area with a Winnie the
Pooh about 4 ft tall, hugging it close to his chest. He must really
love his kid, probably a little girl. Third place, for the sake of the
little girl. Click the ribbon on Pooh's tummy.
And now, the winners for the best dialogue. A security guard
approached a woman who looked anxious, saying, ''Sorry ma'am,
sarado na po talaga.'' ''Ano? Hindi pwede 'yan, kanina pa ako
rito, one hour before, hindi naman international flight ito na
two hours before.'' (Raising her voice) ''Idedemanda ko 'yang
Air Philippines na 'yan.'' ''Hindi ako aalis dito kung hindi n'yo
ako itse-check in!''
Another passenger: (whispers) ''Huwag kayong magbiro ng
ganyan ma'am, maraming abogado rito.'' First place.
A passenger wants an aisle seat, exit row. Air Philippines guy
named Jomel Gonzaga: ''Yes ma'am, we have an exit seat, pero
window na lang.'' Passenger: ''Wala na ba talagang aisle?''
Jomel (smiling): ''Mas maganda ang sa window ma'am,
mahangin.'' Second place.
To be continued...
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