The Colorum Preacher and His Supporter Cast the First Stone

He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone. –JOHN 8:7

I am Catholic, but I am admittedly not the very religious type. However little my efforts might seem to others, the faith that I have means more to me and is as much a big part of myself. I see this faith as my own. I don’t see the need to impose what I believe in upon others who do not share the same. If we have different faiths, it is not because one is better than the other. We’re just different. No more, no less. Plain and simple.

I don’t mind when, once in a while, I hear words from other people seemingly convincing me to adopt the same faith as theirs. What appalls me are the people who talk and preach as if they are sincere in their endeavors in sharing the word of their God, but are actually those who simply think that theirs is a more superior faith.

Unfortunately, I came across two such persons last night.

Of all places, I was on my shuttle ride home when some guy, who I could only surmise as someone young and optimistic, at the back row of the van suddenly started talking aloud. I had my earphones on, as always, so, at first, I thought it was just another person talking loudly while on his mobile phone.

It was when I started to hear, even with my blaring music on, statements like, “I encourage you to get in touch with God” and “I’m sure it will change your life the same way it did mine” that I realized that I was in the midst of something very odd.

I did not bother to listen to what he was saying. It was one thing that he was preaching in a tightly enclosed space. It surely was another that he was doing this in a van full of tired office employees, all of whom can’t wait for some rest and peace and quiet.

At the end of his “speech”, he even started getting political. He asked “us” to pray for our city mayor as, apparently, the public official needs all the help in shutting down all those night clubs along Sucat road.

Colorum Preacher: …These women deserve better. The married men who go into these clubs deserve better. These night clubs cheapen our society…so let us help and pray for our mayor for him to be successful in dealing with this issue.

Something to that effect.

At that point, he was making some sense, I admit. Nonetheless, I had half an ear to lend to him.

As he ended his “speech”, he said “goodnight” to all of us and stopped talking. All of a sudden, the man, probably in his mid-50s, who was conveniently seated beside me, was apparently so moved by Colorum Preacher’s speech that he himself began his verbal commentary on the matter.

I was not able to make anything out of the things he said. In fairness, his was just, I think, two or three short statements which lasted less than a minute (as opposed to Colorum Preacher’s seven minutes). I could only assume that the statements were some kind of affirmation of what Colorum Preacher had to say as I also heard Colorum Preacher thank him after he gave out his comment. Colorum Preacher then proceeded to start a conversation with his apparent “Supporter” (note that the Supporter and I were on the third row, while Colorum Preacher was behind us):

Colorum Preacher: [in a voice that resounded within the four tin walls of the shuttle] What church are you from, Sir?

Supporter ni Colorum Preacher: [mentions his church]

Colorum Preacher: Ah, wonderful.

They kept on their loud talk and I was actually successful in ignoring them. But of course, I wasn’t that fortunate the whole ride home.

Supporter ni Colorum Preacher: So, if you want, just text me because we [his church group] are in the process of interpreting the Torah.

Colorum Preacher: Yes, wonderful, sir.

Just as I was beginning to think that it was all over and done with, the two delved into the discussion of specific biblical verses, the exact denominations of which I overlooked, only remembering that they were talking about the book of Genesis, the days of creation, and the number of times God said, “It was good,” every time he created something. I did not hear how the discussion progressed, but I did witness the following appalling turn of events, right down to the last elitist sigh:

Supporter ni Colorum Preacher: Do you know that that is the most violated commandment? Many of us don’t even know that we are already committing sin.

Colorum Preacher: ‘Yan ang hirap sa mga Kristiyanong hindi inaaral ang Bibliya.

Supporter ni Colorum Preacher: Sssssshhhhhh… [points to the rest of the passengers of the shuttle, including Xtin, in a gesture that looked to me as if he was saying, “Don’t say that, baka marinig ka nila (the other passengers), ang mga taong hindi nag-aaral ng Bibliya”]

xtin: [in deep thought] Hallur. Narinig na namin noh! ‘Tong epal na ‘to…

I once said in an old post:

You see, the significance of believing or not believing in a god does not lie on
the correctness or fallibility of things. what is, though, is how a person,
through experiences and maybe even research, ended up as a believer or
non-believer.

If you, Colorum Preacher and Supporter, spend more time in analyzing the Bible, word for word, it will never mean that those who do not devote their faith in the same endeavors as yours are inferior, as the both of you obviously feel.

I certainly did not appreciate how condescending these two were to the others in the van. They didn’t know who we were, yet, they felt that they could easily assume that we were beings of a lesser stature. What disgusts me even more is the fact that their only criteria in passing judgment is the assumed lack of knowledge of the rest of us as regards Biblical verses and its true meaning.

That just brings me to wonder, have these two half-wits spent some of their precious time mulling over John 8:7? Concerned lang ako at baka sila naman ang nakaka-violate nito.

Pwede ba. The two of you are hypocrites to me. Kaya magtigil kayo. Cast the first stone, damn it. Cast the first stone, why don’t you?

My Starbucks Hitlist: Deconstructing the Starbucks Crowd [Post Valentine Edition]

Damn. I've been itching to write about this since after February 14th and it is only now that I finally found time.

By this time, I guess, the hoopla that was Valentine's Day 2009 has subsided (I'm keeping my fingers crossed). As I look back at it, I realize that this event is becoming more and more celebrated as years pass by. Year after year, there are more roses, more heart-shaped balloons, more heart-shaped boxes of chocolates, and more stupid couples.

Whoops, did I say stupid? Well, I should strike that now, lest I be accused of being a bitter and cold old lady (who only talks to her cats, haha).

Not that anyone is asking, BUT, I don't celebrate Valentine's Day. Well, at least, not like the rest of our pop culture society. Ah, don't call the bitterness just yet. I do have a valid and non-spinster take on this. February 14 has never been V-day to me. It has always been my Mom's birthday. I have always known this special day to be a family day and not as luveyduvey ka-corny-han.

This might've been the reason why I was soooo pissed off when this Lovapalooza thing was first held on V-day several years ago. Not that I found it sappy and lame (as an excuse to kiss in public). Well, I did, but those were just the secondary reasons why I hated it. The Lovapalooza crowds, in addition to the god-forsaken couples who concertedly went out on that one night, messed up traffic so badly, so much so that I was late for class.

Harumph.

Since then, I have known V-day not only as my Mom's birthday or a cutesy-patootsie excuse for couples to go out or a night when every friggin' resto is booked, but also as a solid reason to stay in and avoid the insane traffic.

Which brings me to this year's V-day post.

I avoided the Feb14 traffic this year, but, I was, in fairness, out that night. I was out...studying, that is. I went to my favorite Starbucks and proudly browsed through my readings as I sipped my warm coffee. It was actually a so-so night. I didn't expect to see anything close to a spectacle. Well, it seemed that I was too engrossed with my studying that I almost missed out on a promising candidate for my hitlist:


THE BITTER V-DAY SPINSTERS

Worse than ampalaya. Worse than Bridget Jones. Even no better than xtin.

Tell-tale signs (you know that there are Bitter Spinsters in your midst when):

1. There are a couple of girls sitting together.
2. They carry a single red rose. Identical to the rose each one has.
3. All of them seem to be enjoying the night.
4. There are sporadic outcries of, "I love being single!" or "Gahd! I'm so happy I'm not on a date tonight."
5. The group talks incessantly about their other girlfriend who is, in fact, on a date that night.
6. They end up laughing at the thought of how ugly or lame-ass their girlfriend's date is.
7. The conversation takes a turn for the worse All of a sudden, Pandora's box of bitterness is opened.
8. The ranting goes on: from being miserable (although not admittedly due to being single) to having a crappy job or being fired from one
9. The get-together ends with a closer like, "I'm so happy I spent tonight with you guys." [insert group hug]
10. It is, after all, Valentine's Day.

When I took my nose out of my Sales book that I was too engrossed with, I noticed that Starbucks was filled by groups and groups of girls. There was one pair of girls who caught my attention, though.

Bitter Spinster 1: [on the phone] Di'ba you're on a date tonight? Ha? Ano? Tapos na? Bakit?

Bitter Spinster 2: [listening in to the phone conversation] Ano? Bakit tapos na? Nyek!

BS1: Come here na lang. Go na! We want to see what he looks like!

BS2: [jumps excitedly like someone just bit her ass]

*an hour later*

BS1 and 2: [sees their Taken Girlfriend] HEY!

Bitter Spinster's Taken Girlfriend: [hands one rose each to BS1 and BS2]

BS1 and 2: AWWWW!

BS2: O, what happened on your date?

BS1: Oo nga, where is he?

Hala, ang mga ate, no such thing as privacy. Or being discreet man lang. And to think that this was their highest point of the night. Before Taken Girlfriend came, BS1 and BS2 were sulking in their "ruined" lives. BS1 spoke of getting laid of and feigning being fine. BS2 kept on talking about a boy who would probably fit in one of the chapters of He's Just Not That Into You.

Seeing them that way kind of gave me a certain joy. On paper, I think I was no different than these young women. Alone, so-to-speak. Unsatisfied at work. Bitter in general. I also understand how a night like the 14th of February feels a bit off, simply because I'm not celebrating love the way the rest of society is doing it. But hey, at least I don't call a girlfriend up, in the middle of her date, just so she could share with me how the date turned sour.

I could be bitter. But I will not attempt to uplift myself from the dumps at the expense of a friend. That's low. And cheap. Would rather do it at the expense of an idiot like...oh, and that's another rant right there...hahaha.

My Annoying Seatmates Here at Work [Part 1]

Today is the day I shall break the ice. My silence stops here.

Over the last few weeks, I have grown FOND of my seatmates here at work. They remind me of my days as a new hire in our firm. Back when I was four years younger…four years stupider…and definitely four years more annoying.

I think you know what I mean.

It’s like after we spend three years in high school and we finally become seniors. It’s the way we see the people from the lower batches, especially the froshies. It’s the way the younger ones seem more annoying both in how they look and act. It’s the way we suddenly wonder if we were that stupid when we were in the same stage.
I could go about work without noticing them, really, but the annoying things that my seatmates are into are just too glaring to just be passed upon.

Let me just paint you a picture of how the set-up here in the office is like:

Our work area simply a vast common room where there are individual workspaces, no dividers, and no cubicles (at least for those who are not yet managers). There is a hodgepodge of files, determining the ownership of which will truly be a logistical nightmare. The place redefines overcrowding, really. A workspace typically intended for one is occupied by two people, or even more. It is where a simple breathe becomes an invasion of the next person’s privacy.

Could you just imagine how inevitable it is for each one of us here in the office to be familiar with our seatmates’ goings on? All that even when we do not intend or even want to have the slightest idea? We can’t help but be all connected, however annoying that connection might turn out to be. Annoying enough to muster that feeling of wanting to box the next person. Well, at least on my part.

I have at least five officemates within the 3 meter radius of my workspace, all of whom are at least 3 batches lower than me. They have this tendency to engage in “activities” which, to my “seasoned” and “mature” senses, are unreasonably juvenile, tantamount to nuisances, thus, annoying.

Now, I would like to introduce you to my seatmates. This time, however, I will have no accompanying pictures. I still have mercy, you know, however others might think otherwise. Besides, since filing libel charges against bloggers might be the next fad, I think making these out as blind items, at least for this post, would lessen my litigation expenses.


First of [maybe] 5 parts…

Discreetly Haliparot Girls
The name speaks for itself, really. These supposed-to-be epitomes of Maria Clara, hailing from the province, and seemingly exuding of rural innocence and womanhood, are not at all what they project themselves to be.

Discreetly Haliparot Girl #1 (DHG1) sits to my left. She is supposedly a barrio lass: speaks like she’s always whispering, sneezes like an itsy bitsy mouse, gives out a shy smile at everyone, takes itsy bitsy bites off her food, wipes the side of her mouth with her embroidered hanky after she takes a bite of her sandwich, engages in public display of physical intimacy…

Wait…what was that?

Yes, that’s right. DHG1 morphs into this creature completely devoid of intimacy issues every time her boyfriend drops by to check on her:


Boyfriend of DHG1: [in disgusting baby talk] O…bakit hindi ka sumama mag-lunch? Magugutom ka niyan? [steals a 1/8 torrid smooch]

DHG1: [smooches back]

DHG1: [in even more appalling baby talk] Eh kasi…ang dami ko pa gawin eh… [gives out a cutesy pout]

xtin: [pretends not to notice, but is nevertheless annoyed]


Apparently, the Maria Clara of today is overly affectionate and annoying. And when such attitude is displayed in the office, I don’t know because I might be wrong on this, isn’t that considered inappropriate? It’s one thing when she’s like this with her boyfriend. It’s just a whole other ball game when she does the same thing to other guys. Guys. Plural.


Other guy/s: [in an I’m-your-concerned-friend-slash-shoulder-to-cry-on tone] O, musta na? Busy ka ba?

DHG1: [in patent baby talk] Eto…

DHG1: [looks up to guy, gives out a cutesy sigh, and bats her eyelashes]

Another guy: [detects flirtation in the air]

Other guy/s: Talaga? Wawa ka naman…

Other guy/s: [sits beside DHG1, extends his arm over the shoulders of DHG1, gives her shoulders a squeeze]

DHG1: [gives out yet another sigh and leans on the open torso of the guy/s]

xtin: [in disgust and in thought] Naknampuchanamanoe. Alam mo, hija, kung nanay mo ako, makukurot talaga kita sa singit! Burikak ka na nga, salawahan pa! Ay santisima!


To be continued…

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

Namedropping Should Be a Crime

It's final exam season once again. And, as expected, I have established a camp of sorts in Starbucks. I've been spending so much time there that I am typically overwhelmed with all the an-away-a-day material I come across.

This scenario is just one of them.

Background: A woman enters Starbucks carrying at least five boxes of what I think were pastries/yummy goodies from the Conti’s next-door.

The barista on duty sees the woman and the boxes she was carrying.

Barista: [impressed] Wow, ang dami naman po niyan.

Woman: Ah, ano ito eh [insert name of pastry], bigay ng owner [insert name of owner]

B: Ah, okay.

W: [smug] Friend ko siya, eh.

xtin: [in thought] WENONGAYON KUNG FRIEND MO? MAY NAGTATANONG BA?


Ugh. I despise namedroppers. They think they’re all that because they “know” certain people or that these certain “important” people know them. Eat shit. I don’t and I won’t give a rat’s ass if you once knew the Sultan of Brunei. Or if you once dated the neighbor of the cousin of the cook of the Sultan of Brunei.

Nor would I find it impressive that you got five boxes of goodies from your friend, the owner of the restaurant. To my mind, I can get the same five boxes by simply paying for it. The two of us will get the same stuff, in the end. I paid for them and you, on the other hand, freeloaded. What’s so special about that?

I guess it’s good that you know of someone “important” and have conveniently benefited from this relationship. Okay lang 'yun. But please, don’t walk around with a smug look on your face, thinking that you’re better than everyone else just because you have this potentially fictitious friendship with this certain important person.

Get this.

Dingdong Avanzado is my cousin.
Philip Salvador is my ninong.
Carmina Villaroel used to be my neighbor.
I went to the same high school as Kitchie Nadal.
I have had my picture taken with FVR and ERAP, on separate occasions.
I shook hands with Ramon Magsaysay Jr. during EDSA II.

No big effin deal?

Yes, it’s not a big deal. It’s not because it shouldn’t be.

If it’s not you who is “important”, what makes you think that knowing someone who is will make you any different?

Starbucks Hitlist [an update to part 1]

A couple of months have passed since the time I promised a second installment of my Starbucks Hitlist. I’ll be making good my nasty promise in a few weeks or so. Really. Need not worry. But before proceeding to it, I think it is only fitting to revisit Part One of my hitlist and give you some updates. I know you want it anyway, wehehe. Have your pistols ready, then.

KOREAN MOB slash ALL FOR ONE CUP, ONE CUP FOR ALL

These Kimchi Martians (pun intended, sorry) were very much on the freeloading prowl again. All these pictures were taken in a span of 6 hours in Starbucks BF (as expected). The air was filled with their back-of-the-throat murmurs and gibberish. There was excitement as if there was a birthday party of sorts. And, to my surprise, there indeed was. They occupied at least one-third of the tables and when this one girl entered the store, they broke into what I could only fathom as the Korean version of the birthday song.

NOTE THAT NOT ONE OF THEM, NI ISA MAN LANG, ORDERED ANYTHING FROM STARBUCKS. TABLES ARE TOTALLY EMPTY. COURTESY TOTALLY LACKING AT THIS POINT, EH?

The nerve of these people really. WALA na ngang mga order ang mga ito, nasikmura pang magkakanta at mag-celebrate ng birthday party? Wow ah.

Kill me, please, kill me.

ALL FOR ONE CUP, ONE CUP FOR ALL: PINOY (JOLOGS) VERSION

These Jay-z posse wannabes, douchebags really, were also caught freeloading. And you thought only foreigners have the nerve to do this shameless deed. Pinoys are precisely more notorious at it, mainly because most of us have the tendency to social climb and, at the same time, be parasitic. Take these idiots as examples. They were a group of at least five, I think, and only one of them bought a cup of Starbucks coffee just so they could be seen hanging out at the café. Honestly, they were misplaced in the area. For one, they wore these cheap-thus-hideous gangster get-ups. Two, they even had this little mp3 player that blasted what they thought was gangster music (this is a separate category in my second installment of this hitlist…coming very soon). Talk about JOLOGS. No wonder. Freeloading is simply their second nature.



CAMERA WHORES

Recall in my original post that I included pictures of camera whores who were not the STEREOTYPICAL camera whores, as indicated by the tell-tale signs (teeny boppers taking their own pictures, etc.)? Well, I’m very proud to say that I was graced with the presence of THE STEREOTYPICAL CAMERA WHORES… teeny boppers, bangs, Frappucinos, and all. Batteries not included, though.

Sighting happened in Starbucks Greenhills Theater Mall. Good thing these girls only took a few shots. Had they taken one more shot, I would’ve hung myself then and there.


THE BROKEN-HEARTED AND THE SHOULDER-TO-CRY-ON

When I came up with the first installment of my Starbucks Hitlist, in speaking of “the broken-hearted and the shoulder-to-cry-on”, what I had in mind was the image of two females, one distraught and broken, the other so eager to listen and supportive.

Upon a subsequent visit, though, to Starbucks BF, this particular hitlist category has somewhat evolved. Apparently, males also can fill in the shoes of the broken-hearted and the friend-in-time-of-need.

The two guys, to cut it short, were obviously gay. At first, I thought they were talking about some business venture or something. The problematic between the two of them was sitting nearer the window in a baby blue, starch-crisp polo. I say problematic because it was evident in his tone of voice. I could readily sense his infuriation and frustration by the way he squeaked at the end of his sentences.

I was listening in to their conversation not because I wanted to, but because, again, it was hard for me NOT to overhear them. And of course, it became a little more interesting. It was, I must say, a truly unbelievable conversation.

Background: The Broken-hearted Gay apparently had, just recently, broken it off from his boyfriend. This boyfriend of his was Chinese. His boyfriend’s mom supposedly found out about their relationship and, him being pure Filipino, was completely unreceptive and suspicious of him. And so he says…

Broken-hearted: Grabe, talaga ang mom niya. Noong nakita ako, sinabi daw n’un mom niya tignan daw ang butt ko, baka meron daw akong [insert unintelligible terms].

Shoulder-to-cry-on: Omaygad…

xtin: [thinks] Nakupo! Why in the world did I have to hear that? Why, lord? Why?

Unbelievable? Believe it. I’ve heard about airing dirty laundry in public. But his was literally filthy.

Dishing out these updates only confirms how on-target the tell-tale signs I’ve come up with in identifying these Starbucks dwellers are.

So…shooting spree, anyone? Oh, wait. Not just yet. Wait for the second installment of the hitlist, that way there will be better chances for us to actually bring someone down. Hehehe.

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.

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.

Carrie, Charlotte, Samantha, & Miranda in Starbucks

I have found the chance to escape from office pressure and resume my Starbucks life. It's final examination season, anyway, and it's really time for me to hit the books.

As I was busying myself with matters of obligations and contracts, I notice four guys at the counter. At first glance, they didn't strike me as metros (metro sexuals) nor as anything out of the ordinary worth watching and exerting effort for. Two of them were wearing pambahay shirts. One looked as if he just got out of his bed. Another had his beer belly hanging over the waist-line of his cargo shorts, the kind with pull-strings at the end. I

At that point, nothing I noticed was typical or stereotypical of anything worth watching. At most, I remember asking myself why and how trashy people like them prefer Starbucks. They don't fit the description really.

That was until they stationed themselves at the four couches immediately next to my table and started talking.

Their frappucinos came and as they settled themselves, one of them suddenly spewed out, "I feel young when I'm in the south," in a familiar over-enthusiastic, almost all-knowing, pa-coño, effeminate, voice.

I look up from my book, took a glance over my left, and saw those four same guys in a whole new light. The one talking had his back against me so I couldn't see his face (thank God). I swear I saw at least one of them sipping a strawberries and cream frap. And there I had it, I was in the midst of four gay men who did not fit the gay stereotype physically, but were overqualified, audio-wise (and drink-wise).

This guy who started talking about his youth, explained his statement by going on with something like, "…I don't know because here," apparently referring to Parañaque as opposed to some northern Manila location he frequented, "there's less pressure. I could relax more," Yadda, yadda, yadda. These guys went from Piolos to Mojo Jojos. And in terms of Mojo Jojo himself, from level one gay to level five gay.

I found this guy laughable for one thing. He struck me as the type who was trying to impress people with his call-center brand of English. You know the kind. People who feel that they sound coño, but to the ears of others who actually know the difference between proper English and social-climbing English, they just sound foolish.

I often come across and get ticked off by people like gay guy number one. So I didn't really see the point of continuing to listen in his self-serving stories.

A few moments from the last disturbance from gay guy number one, I look up again from my book, because of what I heard, this time, gay guy number two say.

"I need a wallet. Maybe you guys should give me a wallet," said gay guy number to who sat across gay guy number one and whose face escapes my memory. Probably not so presentable, as it was forgettable, by my standards.

"Okay. We'll buy it from Penshoppe," said gay guys number three and four who were sitting to the left of one and two, nearer to me.

Two goes, "Eeew!" and some more statements condescending to the mentioned local brand. Ultimately, he was meaning that he'd rather be caught dead than caught keeping a wallet with a big Bench or Penshoppe logo stamped across the damn thing. "BEH-HENCH…PEH-HEN-SHOPPE…" He said, making his voice bigger and making hand gestures as he described how the big logos would appear on the supposedly icky wallet.

What does this guy think? That he's some socialite who only deserves signature handbags and wallets? (cue montage of DJ Montano)

They began to sound like the girls from Sex and the City who liked to talk about Guccis and Birkins. Problem was, Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha were in New York and were actually socialites, sexy, and hot. And gay guys one, two, three, and four were simply stuck in a Parañaque Starbucks (on a Saturday night), trying to sound socialite-ish, looking (and sounding) ghetto and cheap. They were everything but Sex and the City.

(in picture Charlotte, Carrie, Miranda, and Samantha)

Their laughs suddenly filled the air as all four of them found humor in the Bench/Penshoppe comment. Gay guy two suddenly gets a new idea for a witty comment and spews out, "McJim!" referring to a brand of leather wallets usually sold in bangketas, as gay guy number one put it, and in most mid- and low- end department stores. Alas, they broke into laughter again and all the more louder. Note that this seemingly hilarious episode came from a group of guys who came into Starbucks sporting the same thing they woke up in, brandishing an effortless out-of-bed 'do (naturally oily and spiky, mind you), and most probably wearing the same stench they woke up with.

Enter my two cents. Ano bang akala ng mga baklang ito? Na magaganda sila? Na if they do get LV or Coach wallets that it would look real on them? Eat shi*t, dearies, I say. It's not bagay din naman on you, why have this wishful thinking pa? Irita.

As if intentionally luring me into their conversation (which has turned out to be this week's winner), gay guy two says, "I think I'm going to buy Crocs."

Gay guy one then reacts, "Eew! Yuck! Crocs? Really?"

"Huh? Yeah, Crocs. They look good naman,eh. Especially the new design that they have, they don't look like normal Crocs, they look like shoes…They look good!"

"Crocs never look good!" Exclaims gay guy one. "I swear, if you buy them, I swear, I'd stop being your friend! You're not going to be my friend anymore!"

As gay guy one was proclaiming his hatred of Crocs to the whole left portion of Starbucks, gay guys three and four were giggling and seemingly seconding the motion of gay guy one, in their own discreet manner.

Gay guy one seemed to make a solid argument with his Crocs-equals-no-BFF mantra, that gay guy two suddenly sinks in his couch looking all embarrassed and defeated.

Looks like gay guy two will never get those Crocs, after all, as he might be risking one of the most important friendships he has in his life. Poor number two, for two reasons: One, he won't get the thing that he wants. And two, he gets stuck with gay guy one.

I don't know why these guys pissed me off. Is it because they sounded so trying? Or was it that I owned a pair of Crocs myself? Either way, I hated them.

(in picture: CROCS, gay guy one, apparently his trailer-park, out-of-bed porma is too good for CROCS)

I tried to zone them out of my study space so that I could get on with my review, which I successfully accomplished. I missed much of their conversation. I know that hearing the rest of it would have been enriching for me, but I had to get back with my own business. I have an exam coming up and I had to attend to that first.

I left Starbucks last night, before gay guys one, two, three, and four did. That could've been the last time I would hear from those cheap and gay imitations of Sex and the City's Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha. One thing's for sure, though…if I get to see or hear from them again, I would gladly indulge myself again with listening in to their idiotic conversations, getting ticked off, laughing my ass off, and blogging about it.