a promdi’s tutuban nightmare

For a promdi like me, Manila will always be an outlandish territory, navigable only by asking questions from people busy enough to give you a wink. But kind was the hotel guard who told me, when asked about the LRT station nearest Tutuban, to get off at Doroteo Jose.

That settled, I went on a pilgrimage to the mecca of inveterate barats. And since the LRT’s PA system was off that day, I had to widen my eyes to the size of electric fans to read the station signage every time the train stopped. When finally I climbed down the Doroteo Jose station, I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be my day.

First there was slight drizzle; second, the sidewalk was thickly lined with people whose eyes, like mine, sparkled with bargain prospects. Forty-five minutes later and 500 meters away from my original location, I was still prowling for a ride. And because it was easier to make Troy Montero admit to having an all male sex video than to get a ride, I, together with million other bargain freaks, decided to “walk with faith in my heart” all the way to Tutuban.

Lesson Number One: alight at either Bambang or Carriedo where, for the same fare, it’s easier to get a jeepney ride to Tutuban.

By the time I reached the railroad tracks, my legs were already on low bat. But Tutuban’s frenetic rhythm and bursting colors, the billowing smoke and assorted smell, and the babel of humans and machine had me instantly recharged. When I entered the Tutuban building, I almost fainted because there was simply too many people.

I tried to get ahead but I was hostage to the flow of human traffic. And just like them I just drifted along, but many times I had to make sure whether the person beside or in front of me was not a mannequin on the lam. I was particularly irked by a mother on whose hip a child clung, steadily wailing like he had sirens for lungs. When the mother looked that way, I popped a sedative into the child’s mouth like it was a vending machine.

Lesson Number Two: Don’t bring children because they could asphyxiate or cry their tonsils out from discomfort.

Dizzy, I took refuge at the National Bookstore but found it as crowded. Why do people go to the Philippine’s haggling capital just to visit the National Bookstore where prices are fixed and the same elsewhere? In the few times that I had successfully inched my way to a stall, I didn’t like what I saw. The prices were low, yes, but product quality was poor; and most signature brands were misspelled.

After zombie-walking for over three hours, I went home with nothing to show for my ordeal but a pair of yo-yo I bought at the sidewalk where I drew blood haggling. But what greater ordeal was there than to find out that the same yo-yo cost less at Uniwide?

Tutuban must have ingrained itself in the shoppers’ psyche because it creeps with people from all walks and stripes, making shopping not only a stretch but death defying because you could die from stroke or fatigue. Not to mention what this promdi belatedly realized that what you see in Tutuban is not necessarily what you get. Like the yo-yo he bought with much regret!