My Starbucks Hitlist: Deconstructing the Starbucks Crowd [Part 1]

I want to go on a shooting spree.

I must admit that I’m a bit fixated on Starbucks right now. Can you blame me? It’s where most, if not all, of my material comes from. It has become THE venue for me to go people watching, simply because it is THE only place I’ve gone to in the past weeks where there are other more interesting people to watch.

Now if you know me and what this blog is about, you’d know that I love people watching, but it doesn’t necessarily mean I love the people I watch. I actually hate them. I get pissed off while observing them. That is precisely the irony I live in. I love people watching because I love getting pissed off by the people I hate.

I suppose hate is too strong a word. Oh, sorry…it just might be TOO WEAK. When I sit down in my corner, open my books, sip my iced (nonfat) classic chocolate, and start to allow the presence of other people to disturb me, we’re not simply talking about HATRED. Think big. Think shooting spree.

Based on a year’s experience gained through studying at many different Starbucks, here is a list that I have conjured of the kind of people you’d meet in Starbucks (and would want to shoot), the tell-tale signs in spotting them, and which Starbucks branches you’d probably have sightings of them:


#1 Korean Mob (BF Parañaque)

Lately, going to Starbucks has been like warping into masterful Koreanovela episode.

Tell-tale signs (You know that the Korean Mob is in the establishment when you):

(a) notice a HERD of adolescent Asians who look like each other
(b) see them with either a wild pair of footwear or an unbecoming Sunday dress (or both)
(c) note that their hairdo is either curly or poker straight, but will always have bangs, either way; if it's a guy, the 'do is most probably going to be the Bruce Lee cut
(d) hear them mumbling nonsense in loud, well-modulated voices that seem like its coming from the back of the throat
(e) catch them running, with exaggerated excitement, to the unoccupied set of Starbucks couches, noisily dragging their heels all the way across the floor—thereby causing one solid disturbance to the disadvantage of everyone else who was unfortunately in the store
(f) feel like they are EVERYWHERE

NOTE: SAME TABLE. TWO DIFFERENT GROUPS. FYI.

This may sound so racist, I know—that part I’m not particularly fond of—but I’m so freaking fed up with seeing these Koreans everywhere. It’s a freaking invasion! For some reason, they move in packs. You’ll rarely see one walking lonely into the night. That is just one of the many ENDEARING things about them. This group is so APPEALING that you’d find them in a few other categories on this hitlist.

Although it has been a year that I have shared my favorite Starbucks with these Koreans, I have neither acquired a taste for their presence nor developed immunity to it. Most of the time, they have not so much as stepped foot on the store floor, I already want to pull out a pistol—and shoot myself.


#2 Camera Whores (Eastwood, BF, Trinoma, Gateway)

One more flash and I promise you, magbibigti talaga ako.

Tell-tale signs (You know you they are Camera Whores if they):

(a) are a group of teeny boppers (or teeny boppers at heart) who have their digicams perpetually in tow
(b) bunch up so closely together while sipping their Frappucinos just so they could fit within the frame of a shot
(c) pose for a picture with either a Blue Steel, Magnum, or a generic slutty Wink, or a Gucci Gang take
(d) have one of them take the shot herself whilst ALSO posing for the picture, holding the camera as she raises one hand in the air
(e) take pictures of themselves, as described in a,b,c,d, in an endless number of repetitions as if Starbucks was their own personal studio, thereby blinding you with the irritating flashes that come out of each damn shot.

I know you know them. Maybe you may have, even once in your life, become one of them. Ugh. If I wanted to spend my time watching fugly model wannabes, I’d just watch Wowowee or something. I won’t go all the way to Starbucks and watch the bitches whore up their cams. If I had one successful suicide attempt for every time these Starbucks Camera Whores take an idiotic picture of themselves, I would have died so many times enough to qualify for genocide.


#3 All for one cup, one cup for all Group (Katipunan, BF, Rockwell)

1 cup=10 people. Or worse, no cup at all. Call them freeloaders, if you will.

Tell-tale signs (One can easily spot these impoverished Starbucks dwellers by noting):

(a) an unreasonably large group of people, those the size of a Korean Mob [supra]
(b) that only one or two from the group orders a drink or a pastry goodie
(c) that they are the ones who have the guts to occupy half of the seating area and talk so loudly as if they own the place

Starbucks is utterly lenient in dealing with these vagrants that they are easily taken advantage of. That is why there are more and more people who go to Starbucks, but who really can’t afford to do so. Again, hanging out at Starbucks won’t make you sosyal. It’s not a status symbol. If you have been a loser a great deal part of your life, hanging out at Starbucks with a herd of your co-loser friends and simply watching other customers drink their lattes won’t magically make you the next IT-girl/guy.

Go to Starbucks. Hang out. Build a fort inside the establishment, should you so desire. I don’t care, really. But, order a damn drink naman…a short café latte at least! Malulugi ang Starbucks niyan sa inyo, eh. They just might have to start charging all of us for their own systems loss.


#4 The Broken-hearted and the Shoulder-to-cry-on (BF, Katipunan, Gateway)

Sometimes, it takes a cup of coffee, a couch, a friend, and a jam-packed coffee shop, full of curious individuals, to comfort one emotionally stricken individual.

Tell-tale signs (you know they’re the-broken-hearted and the shoulder-to-cry-on when):

(a) a pair, most of the time a pair of two women, sits in the most discreet corner of the establishment
(b) they start up talking in whispers, but evidently talking about something really important and issue-intensive
(c) one of them suddenly wells up, sobs to death, and occasionally makes remarks like “He’s such a jerk” or “’Di ba? Ayoko na, hindi ko na kaya” you could easily overhear
(d) the other makes out a pitying expression and utters something as cliché and irritating as “O, don’t cry na. Okay lang ‘yan.”
(e) when you suddenly feel the drama of it all

I admit that I, myself, several times in my life, have aired my dirty laundry at some Starbucks. Now, I strongly feel that I should not have done that. Seeing these drama queens flooding the shop with their tales and tears of heartache does not make me empathic. It makes me feel ashamed for them for letting me view the free daytime soap opera.


#5 30-ish, 40-ish on their post reunion gimmick-slash-after-party (BF, Katipunan, 6750)

Mahirap talaga ang tumatanda—habang tumatagal, napapaghalatang repressed.

Tell-tale signs (You know you’ve spotted these old-timers when you):

(a) see a big group of middle-aged men and women, in very dressy and color-coordinated outfits (the color coordination being the result of a themed party) and with nametag stickers
(b) hear sporadic bursts of laughter that bring down the house, with one strong laugh overpowering the others, that of an old man that sounds a bit like Santa Claus laughing
(c) feel as if you’re going down memory lane
(d) notice that the group has gone to double its population within the first hour it came in the shop
(e) figure that they’re staying until the shop closes…at 2AM.

But maybe they just have some catching up to do. These people are not particularly irritating. It just feels like they’re so misplaced in Starbucks and that pisses me off just a bit. Shouldn’t you all be at home tucking your kids in and acting like typical parents would? Repressed, people. Repressed. Parang mga kabayong na pinakawalan sa koral.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Two Episodes in Nike Stadium Powerplant Mall

EPISODE LAST TUESDAY

Last Tuesday, I went to Nike Stadium Power Plant mall just to see what was on sale. Upon getting there, I was greeted by a salesman, “Good morning, ma’am!”

I acknowledged the greeting by nodding back.

However, it should be said that their consumer relations tactics stopped there—for that one salesman and one other, at least. They were completely unmindful of my presence in the store that I could have snuck something out of there without triggering the alarms. They were both preoccupied in the pre-purchase routine of this guy who was there in the store when I got there.

Backgrounder: This guy was sitting down on the bench as he was examining and about to fit a new pair of Nike Hyperdunks, which costs PhP6,500. The two salesmen who were the only two employees manning the store floor, well apart from the cashier, of course, were stationed beside of the customer, one on each side, as if one was the guardian angel and the other was the devil.

Customer: ‘Di ba ito ang ginagamit ng La Salle? Pero bakit yung kanila may black? May nike.id ba ito?

Salesman1: Ay ewan ko po, sir. [stares at the shoes the customer is holding with his mouth wide open]

xtin: [stands at the end of the bench and looks at the shoes for women on sale]

C: Sa Ateneo din ‘di ba? Ito ang gamit nila? Pare-pareho sila eh. Pero si Chris Tiu lang ang hindi. Adidas talaga siya. Eh yung sa FEU? Ganito din ang gamit nila pero ibang color yata.

Salesman2: Alin ‘yun? La Salle? [also stares at the shoes with his mouth wide open]

C: Hindi. FEU. [slips his feet into the shoes, stomps a little bit, laces them up, and stands up]

S1 and S2: [continues to salivate over the shoes as the customer checks out how the shoes look in the mirror]

C: Grabe, mabinyagan na nga ito mamaya. Magamit na.

S1: Marami ka na ring Nike noh? [looks at the shoes and talks as if owning multiple Nikes is a sign of royalty]

C: Oo. [gives out a satisfied smile for the remark of S1 and for the good fit of his new shoes. Proceeds to the counter to pay]

S1: [continues to adore the customer the shoes he is about to purchase]

S2: [follows the shoes with his gaze, still salivating, then talks to S1] Ganun talaga pare. Sa pangarap na lang tayo makakabili ng ganyan [gives out a sigh].

S1: [sighs, as well, and conjures a twinkle in his eyes]

x: [feels overlooked and unattended to, rolls her eyes, steps out of the store, but still manages to steal a shot or shots]

That was appalling. The TWO remaining salespeople on the floor were salivating over the purchase of one customer, completely ignorant of what they were actually being paid for. Or maybe they ARE paid for that—Para magkanda-ugaga over a single customer and take the others for granted.

I’m not one who pays particular attention to the service salespeople provide me when I go to any store. As far as I’m concerned, the make or break situation that stands in the middle of me buying something from the store and walking out of the establishment empty handed will never be decided on the persuasive skills of a salesperson.

That doesn’t mean, however, that I’m completely oblivious of a salesperson’s manners in general. Though I don’t expect you to persuade me into buying anything, since you’re in the store as a salesperson, I still expect you to have a set of manners that are well intact, being in the business of consumer relations and all. I have this general expectation—you be a car sales agent in Honda, a sales lady in Kamiseta, or even a shoe sales man in Nike Stadium.

I am particularly drawn to the attitude of the staff of Nike Stadium at Power Plant mainly because I have had a previous episode with one of them several months ago.

EPISODE SEVERAL MONTHS AGO

Backgrounder: I went to Rockwell that Saturday because it was, after all, a Rockwell Weekend Sale, if I remember it correctly. I had on my brand spanking new pair of white canvas sneakers that I bought a week earlier and I wandered around the mall, aimlessly, searching for reason and purpose (Wow. That was a Gucci gang-ish statement). As the store was also on sale, Nike Stadium was packed with shoppers and the salespeople were endlessly preoccupied with anything and everything.

xtin: [looks around with nothing particular in mind then finds a laptop bag which she eventually decides on buying]

x: [approaches a salesman] Excuse me, may bagong stock kayo nito? [refers to the bag she is holding]

Salesman: [takes the bag, gives nothing but a look, turns his back, and goes to the stock room]

x: [waits]

S: [comes out of the stock room, approaches xtin, and hands over to her the new stock]

x: Thanks.

S: [looks at her, nods, prepares himself to walk away, calculates his next step which was going to be over xtin’s feet to reach the other side of where xtin was standing, and actually makes that step...]

S: [realizes that he has stepped on xtin’s brand spanking new white canvas sneakers, whispers—] Ay, sorry. [gives xtin a certain look which xtin could not understand if it was either apologetic or adversarial, as if xtin was inconveniently standing in his way]

x: SHIT! [frantically dusts off the nasty mark the stupid salesman left on her white sneakers]

SS (now, not for salesman, but for STUPID SALESMAN): [looks at xtin, shrugs his shoulders, turns his back, walks away, and pulls two other salesmen to one corner where the three of them start to whisper things amongst themselves]

x: [makes some sort of a scene in the middle of the store. Exhibits her patent pissed off look, rolls her eyes, continues to exaggeratedly dust off her shoes as she walked towards the cashier]

SS: [acts oblivious]

x: [pays for the bag with no assistance whatsoever from any other sales staff, gives one hostile look to the STUPID SALESMAN, and walks out of the store]

Well, I was acting a bit anal and diva-ish about my white sneaker, yes, but that was beside the freaking point. I wasn’t expecting him to personally dust my shoe off. But he could’ve been more apologetic about it, at least. He didn’t even have the courtesy to assist me all the way to counter, considering the boo-boo he had just committed. I thought twice if I really wanted to buy the bag after what had happened. But again, my decision was not about to rely on how a salesperson had (mal)treated me. So I went ahead and bought the bag.

The one thing I could not get over is that I did not note the name of the Stupid Salesman. To make matters worse, as of press time, I could not find the Nike receipt from my purchase, which could have indicated the name of the Stupid Salesman.

I didn’t even take a picture of him. All I remember is that he was moreno, of medium built, and had puttied hair, stereotypical of any department store salesman.

So, if you’re planning to buy some Nike stuff, I suggest you DO NOT head off to Nike Stadium at the Powerplant Mall. You can visit, say, the Nike Stadium over at Shang, where the personnel are better mannered and more accommodating (thanks to Archie Sirame and Marianne, the cashier), as I learned when I went there (the store was also packed that day as it was also on sale) and purchased a pair of soccer shoes.

And to the Stupid Salesman: THANK ELVIE, OUR HOUSEHELP, FOR IF NOT FOR HER SUCCESSFULLY WASHING OUT THE NUISANCE YOU OH SO RECKLESSLY IMPUTED ON MY WHITE SNEAKERS, I WOULD STILL BE CONTEMPLATING A (MURDEROUS) REVENGE. Well, come to think of it, even if my sneakers are white and clean again, the moment I find that receipt and discover what your real name is, I still won’t have second guesses in posting it here as a tribute to your impeccable consumer relations skills. Touché, right?

A Dancer and an Archer-Hater in Starbucks

I actually have more interesting things to rant about than this, but the timeliness of relaying this story is vital. This story may go untold for just a week and the humor in it could already diminish significantly, by then.

This is my story.

In an attempt to distance myself as far away as I can from my bed and to avoid giving in, yet again, to one of my notorious slumbers, I packed my trusty messenger bag and went to Starbucks Katipunan to study.

When I got there, the most familiar ambience greeted me: the place was not so jam-packed (as it WAS a Saturday night after all, only a geek like me would rather spend time catching up on lessons I've lagged behind from than, I don't know, doing some thing more un-geeky), it was filled with people who are familiar yet I haven't met, and it was reeking of a signature smell, the type that clings on to your clothes, of a mixture of both burning cigarettes and brewing coffee. I look around one more time and say to myself, "Ahh, yes, Starbucks. I'm back," not in a contented and subtly jubilant manner so much as it was just an acknowledgment of that reality.

In any case, there has never been a good reason behind my being in Starbucks, for the past year at least. I go, very rarely to hangout, but more often to study. And that, my friends, I think, is never a good thing. Well, the nouveau geek that I am, I may make it sound like it's not as bad as I thought it would, mainly because for whatever reason it is that I am in Starbucks, one thing's for sure: I'm bound to find something interesting lurking around the establishment. And, as if on cue, two people worthy of MY anawayaday attention, came to close proximity.

STARBUCKS FIND #1 THE ARCHER HATER
Backgrounder: I was, yes, eavesdropping in the conversation of this group of four people. Although the main character was mostly enunciating everything, there were times their conversation simply became incomprehensible. But from what I gathered, they came from a party, the main character at least as she was dressed as if the themed party barfed on her, they were all ATENISTAS, and the main character has recently had an encounter with a LASALLISTA whom, I think, she likes (or not anymore) and who was flirting with her in some way.

ARCHER HATER: (talking about her Lasallista prospect) So, tinanong niya, "Always bang issue ang Ateneo-La Salle sa inyo?" Eh ako kasi nasanay ako na puro Atenista. Marinig ko pa lang na Lasallista ang tao, negative na agad! 'Pag Lasallista, iisipin ko agad [insert some incomprehensible talk], "Ang yabang!" Ang sama 'di ba? Pero, PUH-RUNG, ganun talaga 'ko lumaki.

Aww. Poor LASALLISTA. This ATENISTA does not and will not like you, ever. It's just too bad that you wear a green shirt on your back. She just sees you as, I don't know nor am I ultimately sure, someone not worthy of an ATENISTA.

To my mind, this LASALLISTA character the ARCHER-HATER is ranting about is as disturbing as the ARCHER-HATER herself. What kind of creep would ask if the Ateneo-La Salle thing will always be an issue? I think I've heard that one before. Oh, yes. In Pinoy Big Brother…TEEN EDITION! Say it with me…JUVENILE!!

All of a sudden, the topic shifts from the LASALLISTA PROSPECT GUY to the DLSU PEP SQUAD:

ARCHER HATER: …[I heard] Okay na ang pyramids nila…finally ba nag-improve na? For the longest time... [insert more incomprehensible talk]

Well, I couldn't blame ARCHER HATER for this one. Nakakahiya naman talaga ang Pep Squad ng La Salle (cue La Salle spelling cheered as A-L-S-A-L-L-E). A very valid point. Hands down.

Apart from her distinctively annoying enunciation, I wasn't that pissed off. I was just amused on how she was confidently proclaiming all her LASALLISTA bashing over at our side of Starbucks, completely unknowing that a green back was actually eavesdropping on their conversation. Hehehe. It was nice to be undercover. Nice and hilarious.

STARBUCKS FIND #2: THE DANCER (MARIBETH BICHARA, ISDATCHU??)
When I was done listening in to ARCHER HATER's conversation, I went back to studying. But as I decided to stretch my arms first before finally going back to business, I turned my head to my left and noticed a very interesting character. Not only was he blowing his nose oh so loudly quite often, he was also engaged in a physical activity not considered as conventional Starbucks behavior.

Author's tips in watching the video: #1 watch for the snap of the head (00:29) #2 wait for matching hand movements (00:52). And, yeah, I would like to apologize for the orientation of the video. I was recording with my phone and I had to do it in a way the guy would not notice that I was taping him. I have no idea how to change the orientation and rotate it. Well, for that matter, here's tip #3: tilt your head to the right.

Can't control those dancing feet (or head or hands) much? He must've been listening to one damn good dance song! I was utterly distracted every time he made those sudden movements in his corner…pero SHOCKS!!! PANALO!!!

There. My trip back to Starbucks was like hitting two birds with one stone. I got to study (which is not that great, though) AND I got back on the people-watching track. The geek in me is very satisfied.

When handwriting becomes eligible and a bachelor becomes illegible

“Stop it, people, stop it. You’re confusing the hell out of me.”

I have been attending training sessions for the past week. Audit training sessions, mind you. Of entity level controls, combined risk assessments, PM/TE/SAD Nominal, and analytical review procedures. Oh, I’m sorry…am I boring you? Good. Because I was bored to death myself.

Apart from endowing upon me the gift of boredom, an added perk of the training sessions, or any audit training session for that matter, is first-hand exposure on auditor/accountant-specific vocabulary and pronunciation.

Accountants share not only technical jargon, but also a unique way of pronouncing even the most pedestrian words. I have been trying to be politically correct with this, but there is no better way of putting it than simply saying that it is kabarokan. I think we drown in the monotony of our work that we often lose our morals of grammar and pronunciation. Worse, more often than not, we are unaware of these loose morals. Not that I enjoy putting my own profession down, but this fact has never gone under the radar anyway.

I may be wrong, though. It just might be the people I work with. That’s what scares me—that this culture of accountant kabarokan is prevalent only in our office. I admit that I don’t have impeccable choices in grammar and pronunciation, but it surely is terrifying sort of knowing that I’m in an environment which fosters such fallibility. And, of course, it’s simply annoying hearing all those misplaced modifiers and short E’s in place of long E’s put together in a week-long training event.

During the past week, when I hear someone say something like “team planning event” as if it’s “TIM PLANNEENG EH-VENT” or “my role as audit senior” as if it’s “MY ROHL AS AUDIT SINIOR” or “STAFFS” instead of “staff members” or “associate” as if the word talks of a dog, there’s stress on the first syllable and there are just three syllables instead of four (AH-SO-SHEYT), I hold back my tears (of laughter) and try oh so hard to exude nonchalance. But again, there is the fear that because of the frequency and regularity of these types of occurrences at work, I just might develop immunity to it.

At one particular point, I felt that fear starting to materialize. I was listening in to the discussion and found myself trapped in an unexpected confusion:

AUDIT TRAINOR (sic): What do you think should a good senior be like?

PARTICIPANT: Like in making review notes, good seniors should not have EH-LEE-GEE-BOL (stress on second syllable) handwriting, so that the staff will understand it.

XTIN: (zones out and goes to a deep and sudden introspection)

Hmmmm…wait. Did he say illegible or eligible? It’s just so hard to differentiate between the two as both seem to have the same accountant-specific pronunciation. Well, either way, it’s wrong.

Not one of the two is pronounced as EH-LEE-GEE-BOL, with stress on the second syllable.

Illegible, or not decipherable, is pronounced as EE-LEH-JIH-BOL, stress on the second syllable.

Eligible, on the other hand, or qualified or unattached, is pronounced as EH-LIH-JIH-BOL, stress on the first syllable, not the second.

Wait, or is it the other way around? Shocks! Stop it, people, stop it! You’re confusing the hell out of me!

Shit. I had to relearn the semantics of these two words just so I could finally differentiate between illegibly and eligibility. There was momentary dyslexia there.

XTIN: (comes back to reality with a renewed sense of self, only to find out that she is still in the training room in the presence of her TRAINOR [sic] and her co-participants, still engaged in their accountant-specific conversations)

Damn.

You need to be SINGLE to understand Sex and the City

I sometimes find myself in the middle of a conversation thinking what I could have done in my life to have deserved to be part of such a conversation. And during those rare but momentous occasions, I always get this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach…the urge of slapping who I’m talking to at that moment and telling the half-wit, “What did you say? Seriously?”

A week or so ago, I got myself in such a conversation with an officemate. We were talking about Sex and the City, The Movie. I was telling her that I really liked the movie and it has been the only movie for quite some time that I enjoyed watching. Apparently, she also watched the movie and wanted to tell me how much she was not able to “relate” to the movie.

Basic fact to know before reading the following conversation: I, XTIN, AM SINGLE. AND SO IS MY OFFICEMATE’S COUSIN. The cousin is a girl, btw.

Officemate: Oo, nga e. Nagandahan nga din yung cousin ko, eh. Naiyak siya sa movie.

Xtin: Ako din, may times na medyo naiiyak ako pero hindi naman natuloy.

O: Talaga?

X: Oo. Nakakaawa kasi si Carrie, eh...

O: Yun nga, eh. Ako kasi hindi ako masyado nag-enjoy/naka-relate. So nung kinikwento sa akin ng cousin ko na naiyak siya, inisip ko, “Bakit ako hindi naiyak? Anong WALA SILA NA MERON AKO?” Tapos ayun, naisip ko, “AY, OO NGA PALA. AKO MAY BOYFRIEND.”

X: (@#$%^&*waatdapakkkk!?!?!...NOSEBLEED)

Huwaw. Seriously? So you need to have NO boyfriend to be able to understand or even feel sad for Carrie? Much more, you need to be single, pathetic, and hapless to comprehend the humor of Sex and the City? Shet. Holy shet. KAYA PALA GETS NA GETS KO AND TAWANG-TAWA AKO SA MOVIE. OH, DEAR GOD, TAKE ME AWAY!!!

And I thought knowing who Mr. Big was and what Manolos are was enough for me to “get” the movie. Apparently, I have to be involved in some lame-ass relationship before I could laugh at Charlotte for having soiled her panties.

And is the phrase not ANONG MERON SILA NA WALA AKO? Talk about making a statement work for you.

UNBELIEVABLE.

*then i came to wonder...what would i have needed to get the humor of KUNG FU panda? should have i gotten myself a talking panda first, so that i could somehow fathom the cute "face nerve" antics of Po? Hmmm...come to think of it...maybe i should have gotten me a panda, because I REALLY DIDN'T GET IT AT ALL. Geheddemmit.

Back to National Bookstore with the Dunhill Junkies

“Don’t you just love New York in the fall? It makes me want to buy school supplies...I’d send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address.” –Joe Fox, You’ve Got Mail

I am not in New York nor is this fall. As far as I know, I still am in Quezon City, stuck in the hot-morning-wet-afternoon season, and notably at the portal of a new school year.

I have talked about going back to school after a well-deserved vacation. I have gone on and on about how it is like going back to reality. “Stop it, Christine. You’re making me sick already,” I tell myself as I realize that I may be exaggerating things just a little bit.

Well, okay, enough of ranting about the resumption of classes.

One thing good about this time of year though is, yes, as Joe Fox said, that the air makes me want to buy school supplies. So, as any traditional Pinoy would, I headed off to National Bookstore to buy me some notebooks and pens.

I went in National Katipunan at around 6PM that day and, as expected, it was packed, so much so that I easily developed a bad mood. I was banging and bumping people’s shoulders to get them out of my way. Even the poor salesladies got a taste of my wrath. Good thing I had my earphones on. God knows what kind of back-stabbing, retaliatory comments I would’ve heard if I hadn’t.

With the two Corona notebooks, three gel pens, and one patent pissed-off look, eyebrows meeting each other and lips curled to a hostile frown, I went in line at the cashier. While the cashier was scanning the bar codes of my items, there were three things.

1. I took out my credit card because I didn’t have enough cash on me and was too lazy to visit an ATM
2. I took my earphones off so that I could hear whatever it was the cashier could probably tell me regarding my purchase
3. My ears being able to hear the free world again, I found myself in the middle of eavesdropping in a totally interesting conversation.

“Alam ko na kung ano ang gift mo sa’kin!” Said an effeminate-sounding male voice, “Isang ream ng Dunhill.”

“Isang ream ng Dunhill?” Asked the female voice the effeminate-sounding male voice was talking to, “Ano ka?”

“Oo, yun na lang ang birthday gift mo sa’kin. Isang ream…” Suddenly the effeminate-sounding male voice hesitates, “Ay wait, baka makita ng mama ko, hindi pa naman ako legal sa bahay.” The bitch, then, rambles on with, “Naku uuwi na nga pala Papa ko! I hate my dad!”

I didn’t hear nor see the female’s reaction to that, but I guess she was amused and agreeable to the proposal. “Isang ream? Hmmm... Sige, isang ream pero assorted…”

“Assorted? Sige…”

“Oo, assorted. Dunhill tsaka…Philip [Morris]!”

“Philip? Yuck!!” The bitch expresses his utmost disgust.

The female giggles as her CLASSY joke cashed in with her equally CLASSY effeminate friend.

“Marlboro na lang…” The effeminate-sounding male voice suggested. But, realizing the TACKINESS that was in his own suggestion, he comments, “[Marlboro?] Eeew. As in EEEW!”

I felt my right eyebrow raise itself.

At this point, these two voices were just that…voices. I didn’t know what they looked like as I never stole a glance…YET.

As Dunhill was APPARENTLY the Louis Vuitton of cigs, I expected the effeminate- sounding male voice to be a sophisticated-looking mestizo with plucked-thin eyebrows, a vest, and skinny jeans reeking of either Tim Yap or Rajo Laurel. As to his companion, I expected her to be a tall, skinny, rebonded-haired girl, with those hobo fashion ensembles. To put it simply, in my mind, these two were the kind of people who dress up like they're going to some club eventhough they're just heading off to buy school supplies. Those self-proclaimed fashionistas, if you know what I mean.

Expectations high, I turned my head to see who these two characters were.

The then anonymous voices were reconciled with their corresponding faces. To put it kindly, I was disappointed. Talk about let-downs. The talk was simply too big for the faces. Even BIGGER than the girl.

YOU? DUNHILL? Really? Are you freaking kidding me?

I looked away, signed the credit card receipt, grabbed my items, and stepped away.

That was one of the few times I left National pissed off and disappointed. Well, how could I not be?

It was bad enough that the place was jam-packed and the lines were long. Hearing the Dunhill conversation made it worse.

My god. How could a person who looks like this talk so condescendingly about an AFFORDABLE cig brand and so candidly about an unreasonably-priced cig? As if he was so used to basking in a pool of other unreasonably-priced things? Well, tell me. Does he strike you as someone who smokes Dunhill? I mean, if I saw this freak before I eavesdropped in their conversation, I would instantly think that he is someone who smokes, yes, but gets his supplies by “bumming” from his friends’ stock, because his Mama doesn’t give him an allowance hefty enough to have him afford even a stick of the cheapest cig in the market. Simply put, he is a smoker who looks like someone who can’t afford the habit. Talk about social climbing. Crap.

I don’t smoke so I wouldn’t know if there really is a difference in smoking different brands of cigs. But I think however smoother or more expensive a brand of smoke is, you can’t use it as a status symbol. If you look JOLOGS, no one will give a shit if you smoke tobacco leaves of gold. You are and will always be a cheap, social-climbing, wannabe to me.

To the Dunhill junkies, thanks for ruining my back-to-National trip. God forbid I see you there the next time I buy school supplies. Because if I do, there’s a big possibility na silaban ko kayong dalawa (I just might set the two of you on fire). Have you not ever seen the government warning on those packs and packs of Dunhills you buy? No, no, no. It doesn't say, "Smoking can kill you" nor does it say "Smoking is dangerous to your health. Well, yeah, to some extent, they do say that, but if it were up to me, I'd have it this way:

WARNING Cigarette smoking is dangerous to social-climbers. When the cancer from the nicotine does not kill you, I SURE AS HELL WILL.

Froshie Shocker: A Sight WITH Sore Eyes

OKAY. BACK TO REGULAR PROGRAMMING.

Back to school, back to reality. And as I promised, I will continue my hunt for douchebags and what nots, even in the confines of the halls of school.

I have not so much as dipped my toes into the academic waters yet when one fabulous find immediately came my way.

It was in the afternoon of the frosh orientation. I was part of the logistics group that: 1. prepared the tables and chairs in the dining hall for all the froshies to have lunch in, and 2. distributed the packed meals the student council ordered for the froshies.

By lunch time, I was a bit tired from pushing those tables and chairs to have the fourth floor of the college library appear as if it were the Great Hall ala Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and helping out in bringing the food up several flights of stairs. It was a good workout, though.

So there I was, hot (as in nainitan ako) and sweaty, when I noticed a stranger with a familiar face.


I went about my lunchtime duties that day but never really failed in observing "his highness". As I was enjoying myself with my ocassional glances of "HRH (his royal hotness)", noticing his, erm, physique and such, several questions came in mind:

What color are those beautiful eyes hiding behind those shades?

Is the hall too bright for HRH?

Is HRH too humble to reveal himself, his hot self behind those lenses?

Has he been crying?

OR DOES HE SIMPLY HAVE SORE EYES?

I kept on asking myself these questions and I swear I heard laughter in my head, as if someone cued it or something. If it was actually too bright in there for HRH or that he had sore eyes, I don't freaking care. I absolutely don't care much for the arrogance that he most obviously was exuding.

Did anyone ever tell you, your royal hotness, that when indoors or when attending some indoor event, just like the frosh orientation you oh so generously graced with your oh so hot presence, that as a sign of respect, you should always take your sunglasses off, even though you think they look SOO good on you?

Crap. I was really ticked off. I even thought it couldn't go worse than that, but when I saw the froshies reading their assigned cases for the afternoon and saw HRH reading with the rest of them STILL with his shades on, I wanted to die. Or maybe those shades were prescription? Again, I don't freaking care.

I do care, though, with what is going on with your face/skin. Seeing the facial troubles you are now experiencing, HRH, I definitely don't want to be you. Call 1-800-Calayan or something just so you could take off you shades already. Honestly, if you want anonymity, I suggest not a pair of sunglasses. I say go crazy with a brand spanking new ski mask. That way, you stay incognito and look as if you're exuding a bad boy image, and we don't get to see your face. See? We all win.