EVANESCENCE
Rush Hour
by Les Cañete
Welcome to Matina! Where every afternoon, starting at 5 PM, is a battle royale in the street.
Scenario:
I visited my classmates who studied at UM Matina, and we listened to some bands and ate food from different stalls in Matina Town Square. And now it was my time to go home alone at 5:15 in the afternoon where there was rush hour.
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Description:
I decided to go back to Mintal while it was not yet evening because I was certain that there would be traffic. I didn’t want to stay in Matina for many more hours because I feared I might get a violation in the EBL Dorm for going back late.
Of course, I bought a coffee worth 5 pesos from the vending machine to power a small village, getting ready to conquer that afternoon. I walked towards S & R because there were lots of jeepneys there. But as soon as I arrived, I was greeted by the sight of a sea of people jostling for space on the sidewalk, like
sardines in a can that had been left out all day long.
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As a brave person, I secretly squeezed into tight spaces, dodging people in uniforms and street vendors selling everything from balut to bootleg DVDs. Finally, a jeep heading to Calinan arrived. I managed to squeeze onto that jeepney, where I was greeted by the sweet serenade of blaring horns and the unmistakable aroma of body odor mixed with diesel fumes.
As the jeepney lurched forward, I was treated to a scenic tour of Matina Crossing’s traffic jams, while trying to avoid making eye contact with the bearded guy sitting next to me who was manspreading so aggressively that I was almost practically sitting in his lap, and a woman on the other side with her untied shaggy hair flying like a free dove towards my face.
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But fear not, dear commuter, for just when I thought I had reached my breaking point, the universe decided to throw in a little extra challenge. The jeepney driver decided to stop in Petron Bangkal to refuel. Worse, the driver was still arguing with the gas attendant because of the price hike. I was trapped inside and the pungent aroma of smelly armpit permeated the cramped confines of the jeepney.
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And just when I thought I’d finally made it to my destination in one piece, I was stuck in Holy Spirit with the only tricycle left there, still waiting for other commuters. Well, the driver would drive me alone but I had to pay thrice the exact fare, and that’s a novel concept reserved only for the spender, and I’m not that kind of character.
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But hey, who needs sanity when I’ve got the “Great Filipino Commute”, where every trip back and forth is a test of my willpower and my bladder control. So here's to us, Davao commuters – may our journeys be long, our traffic jams be short, and our jeepneys be air-conditioned... in our wildest dreams.