Wednesday, November 19, 2008

An Altercation

See that parking slot? It’s mine, not yours, dumbass.

Two nights ago, I came home at around 1am after attending a so-so concert, which, by the way, I should also be blog-ranting about.

Upon entering the compound, I took a quick look at my parking spot. You know how it is in residential complexes. Your unit gets assigned a parking slot and when other tenants see that your slot is constantly unoccupied, they’d simply park their other cars in your slot, to their heart’s content. This I learned not early on, but only just last summer when another tenant got into this irritating habit of parking his cars in my assigned slot. I never really did mind that he did so up until a friend told me that I should assert my right over the parking slot. After all, I paid for it and this asshole who keeps on using it did not. Nor is he paying me.

There had been a couple of times when I attempted to, yes, assert this so-called right. To my dismay, however, I have only come across the driver of this alleged asshole. At first, I was, er, pleasant to said driver. I told him, nicely if you must ask, that I have been inconvenienced by their use of my parking slot.

Of course that was just an exaggeration. This “inconvenience” that I speak of relates not to any time my car was deprived of its place in the universe, the universe being the compound. I don’t have a car nor do I have any recurring and regular visitors who do. So this “inconvenience” is solely based on the pro-bono use of that little parcel of concrete, without my consent.

Ayaw ko nang naiisahan. ‘Yun lang naman talaga ‘yun.

But apparently, my calm statements toward the driver didn’t ever make a difference. Since the first time I talked to him, there had been so many times I have caught one of their vehicles in my slot. I have never been able to comprehend why the asshole [the driver’s employer] can afford to have more than one car, but can only manage to secure himself just one parking slot. Come on, does he think that he will just freeload off the other tenants’ slots? Well, maybe. But there is no way in the freaking world will he be able to do that with this tenant.

That is why it became a habit of mine to always check this slot in-question out, whether or not there is an unauthorized occupant.

That night, as mentioned, another vehicle was there, yet again. This time, it was a pick-up truck. As if trying to spite me or something, the license plate even had “CONG 8” on it, as if I was about to believe that (1) it was an authentic government official protocol plate, (2) it was not just an ordinary commemorative plate of some medical institution the asshole simply had customized, and (3) he indeed was a solon. Pwede ba?

Me being the normal me, an away a day and all, I slowly got into my usual theatrics, although minding that it was already an unholy hour and many of my co-tenants were already asleep. I threw a discreet yet moving bitch fit upon calling the on-duty guard’s attention. I made it a point, though, to express anger on the asshole and not on the guard. The guard might think that I was getting mad at him. I, of course, didn’t want that as I wanted his support and assistance in the matter.

“Ma’am, sige po, pupuntahan ko na lang sila para tanungin kung pwede na alisin ng may-ari itong kotse nila,” suggested the guard, to which I agreed. I have never wanted to disturb anyone during their sleep, especially in that unholy hour, just so I could satisfy my whim-slash-bitch-fit. But enough was enough. My patience, if you could really call it that, could only go so far.

I readied my self for a full-blown mahadera/palengkera mode altercation. I was rehearsing insults in my head while I was waiting for the guard and the asshole to come down from the third floor, where the asshole’s unit was.

After a few minutes, the guard came down, alone, so I asked him, “O, nasaan na?”

Bababa na daw po.”

True enough, a few seconds after, I see this creature in a tattered sando and jogging pants to match approaching the guard. I give him my patent hostile look, the one where I look at him from head to toe with a facial expression saying that, “So…’yan na ‘yun? Eew. No contest naman pala.”

The asshole saw me with this look on my face, yes, but he took one look at me and, just when I was about to jump to a verbal battle, he looked away and, instead, asked the guard, in an irritated-slash-inconvenienced manner, “Anong oras ba dumating ‘yang pick-up?” referring to the pick-up that was unlawfully parked in my slot.

Wow, ah. So are you trying to tell me that you had no idea that your friggin' pick up was parked in my slot? In short, it wasn't at all your fault that the location of your vehicle has inconvenienced another tenant? Maryosep. Pwede ba, hindi bagay sa pagmumukha mo ang pa-inosente. You reek of dishonesty and un-fairplay.

He walked towards the slot. He got in his pick-up. Just when he was about to move it out of the parking slot, I gave him one last look, but again, he looked away, but of course in a manner which TRIED, although pathetically, to tell me that he didn’t mind at all that he had inconvenienced me. He drove away and found another slot, not his yet again, to exploit.

“Okay ‘yun ah. Hindi man lang humingi ng paumanhin,” I commented to the guard.

Gan’un po talaga ‘yun, ma’am. Mayabang po talaga. Kaaway din po namin ‘yan, eh.”

“Figures,” I thought.

I thanked the guard for his help, after which I finally went home and took a rest at 2am. I didn’t immediately doze off. Maybe because I was still irked by the asshole. I was thinking very intently how and why creatures like him have to be such jerks. Walking smugly with the attitude that they are above all laws, even those which are mere community regulations.

I haven’t felt that I have won this battle yet. At least I got him off my property, so to speak. Now I must hold caution because with people like that who think that they are “in power” [cue “CONG 8” congressman daw ‘o license plate] and having had an altercation with such a creature, trouble couldn’t be brewing too far from me.

*I’d actually mention his name here, but nah, I want to live a bit longer and to not have my new car, if ever get one, scratched or its tires slashed by an anonymous hater. I know that is just how these creatures operate. Their retaliation will expectedly be as cheap and irritating as buying second hand bed linen.

Monday, November 3, 2008

My Starbucks Hitlist: Deconstructing the Starbucks Crowd [Part 2]

Do you have your rifles ready? Okay, then. Let's see what other kinds of people we'd find and want to shoot in Starbucks.

# 6 BOOM BOX (BF, Katipunan, Rockwell, Trinoma)

Get some earphones, idiot.

Tell-tale signs (You know these idiots are in the house when:)


  1. The normally relaxing music in Starbucks is suddenly overpowered by some other song, typically unbecoming for Starbucks
  2. You look around to try and see where the sound is coming from and realize that it's coming from a stupid gadget
  3. The gadget is spewing out music at a rude volume level, typically requiring of earphones
  4. You stare at the idiot down who owns the gadget and see that he's enjoying the music and that he also might even start dancing or singing along to his heart's content.
  5. You suddenly acquire a most unwelcome LSS (last song syndrome—Apple Bottom Jeans, boots with the fur [the fur], the whole club was looking at her…she hit the floor, next thing you know, Shawty got LOW LOW LOW LOW LOWWWW)
I like "LOW" as much as the next person, you know. But when I'm in Starbucks, I'd rather bask in the mellow ambience of the establishment. I do not pay P100+ for a cup of coffee just so I could listen to your rendition of some Cher hit. I do not go there just so I could witness a showcase of your new laptop and media playlist. I have my own, thank you very much. And, unlike you, I can afford earphones, dumbass.

I couldn't care less if you're into hip-hop, house, RnB, or pop. I won't give a crap if you're into Fi[f]ty Cent, Celine Dion, or Salbakuta. I won't mind, really. But that doesn't mean you could thrust upon me your poor taste in music. More so if it is coming from some cheap contraption of yours. Tutuktukan kita, eh.




The losers in the video, aside from being a one-cup-for-all-all-for-one-cup gang, came to Starbucks Rockwell with their little el cheapo MP3 player, blasting Ne-Yo's "With You" (replay the video and you'd notice that you could clearly hear the song playing from their table). Gahd, people, can you be more lame? If you want it so badly to look like gangsters, at least play true gangster music, not luvey-duvey love songs by cutsie RnB singers…I like the song, yeah, but it's people like these losers who turn the songs I love into cheap and jologs novelty songs.


#7 ENUNCIATORS (BF, Katipunan, 6750, Gateway)

I swear I don't want to eavesdrop, but the loud mouth in the next table is making life difficult for me.

Tell-tale signs (You know if these loud mouths have arrived when:)


  1. There's a pair or group of people in the next table who are in deep discussion
  2. One member of the pair or group is noticeably talking at the top of his/her voice, enunciating
  3. You are thrown off your concentration
  4. You suddenly feel that you've become part of the conversation going on in the next table
It's nice that people like to talk to their friends. What's not is that I'm not a friend, but I could still hear, LOUD and CLEAR, what the F the other table is talking about. Thanks to the resident loud mouth. Don't get me wrong, though. These enunciators have kept my stay at Starbucks very interesting. Not only do they impart little life lessons [sarcastic cough], they also are funny as hell. Hilarious. Ridiculous.




This is the Gamer-Enunciator and friend. I came across the two of them a couple of months ago. The guy in the striped shirt was waiting for the other guy and when the chubby guy arrived, all hell broke loose. The chubby guy, aka the Gamer-Enunciator, spent what felt like three hours discussing in full detail and complete passionate reenactments of his favorite computer game and game techniques. Pow. Bam. Kaplow. He was enunciating every little game advice he was giving to his friend that I felt that everyone else in Starbucks that day became a better gamer, even just a bit. Of course I had squat of an idea of what he was lecturing his friend on. I could not even quote a complete sentence from him because I had no idea what he was talking about except that I knew that it was a computer game. That is just why the whole thing became more unbearable for me. I wanted to go to their table, smash a bottle on his head, and say, "Shut up, geek!"


#8 WHERE'S THE PARTY?-PEOPLE (Katipunan, Valero)

I was not aware that Starbucks had a dress code. Party attire mandatory.

Tell-tale signs (There is no doubt that the party animal turned up when:)


  1. You go to Starbucks in your most casual and comfortable, close to homey, get-up
  2. A group of people enters, each member wearing some retarded outfit announcing to everyone that he/she has just gone from a major party, with one wearing an item of clothing in gold
  3. The group moves around like they're on a catwalk of sorts, with one or two of them almost always on the verge of giving a killer pose and as if wanting to be watched in slow-motion
  4. The whole establishment seems to stop in its tracks
  5. You suddenly feel inadequate and underdressed
A huge pet peeve of mine is fashion victims. I don't like it when people dress up inappropriately, more so if they do and think that they could pull the stupid outfit off. I hate it when these retardates go about the earth as if every place they go to is one big event. News flash, genius: it might've taken you half a day to put that look together, but even long hours couldn't keep you from looking fugly. And, going to Starbucks in that joke you call an attire makes your punch line more hilarious.





#9 CAFFEINE-LOVING PARENTS & SUGAR-RUSHED KIDS (BF)

There's a reason why Jollibee has a play area and Starbucks does not.

Tell-tale signs (You know if the Goin' Bulilits from hell are in when you:)


  1. Are having a peaceful coffee-break
  2. See that an evidently married couple walks in with their adorable little girl or boy
  3. Notice the kid/s enjoy all the chocolatey goodies they could get their hands on
  4. See a couple of banshees jumping up and down the place
  5. Suddenly realize that there no banshees, only the adorable kids who have escaped the supervision and authority of their parental units and have decided to run amuck


In the picture, I caught the kid making his KSP act just so his mom would look at him. After a few minutes, true enough, this same kid was running around the store and the mom couldn't care less of the havoc his unreasonably rambunctious kid was causing.

Kudos to family time. But if you know that you can hardly control your kids, don't bring them to an adult place like a coffee shop and have them run around like crazed gremlins, let alone feed them sweets and goodies that will induce a sugar rush. You know you're not bad parents, but it sure as hell makes it hard for everyone else to see you in the same light when your issues are being irritatingly noisy little brats. If you're not one who'd strap your kids on a leash, do us all a favor and not give them sugar.



That'll be it for now. Don't despair, though. I'm sure I'll be spending a lot more time in Starbucks and there'll be a whole lot more opportunities for people-watching and idiot-bashing. I might even see the people who have been part of the hitlist and give you unprecedented updates. Until then. I'm sure it won't take me a long while.


Part 1 of Starbucks Hitlist