|
Jay’s Literature Page
|
||
| Last updated: 04 Apr 2005 |
(2001-2003)
|
All in the Almighty Name of Fun
Call me an anti-social creep with no life, and it's OK, but if there are two things people can accuse me of that I cannot tolerate, they are that I am a miser and am no fun. An officemate, Mina Meena, had once made that dreadful mistake of calling me just those things. Immediately after verbally abusing her, and cursing her, her entire family, and her line to the third generation, I pulled out my wallet and declared to everyone within earshot that I was willing to cough up some hard earned money to treat anyone who cared to come, hanging out in the most hip and happening night clubs at the city right after work. A total of ten people responded to my invitation, first of them, of course, was Mina Meena. An hour after the end of the work day, the eleven of us found ourselves trekking the stretch of the night club/bar/restaurant strip in Malate, in search for this place not less than four of my companions had guaranteed to be the most happening night spot in that happening district. It goes by the business name of Bembol Vee eatery during the daytime. It serves affordable daytime food for the daytime workers, but come sundown, like its neighboring establishments, it transforms into a hip and happening night spot where beautiful, well-dressed people hang out in, and where drinks and food are suddenly expensive. As it happens, this establishment keeps its daytime name even as it changes format and clientele. "Bembol Vee Eatery," I pronounced, spotting the place through its neon lights sign board before anyone in our company did. It looked very much like a business establishment typical in that semi-residential area: an old house--probably built in the 60's or 70's--converted to a night spot. As a matter of fact, as I looked up its second storey windows from the outside, I was sure I glimpsed a young girl in her early teens serenely reading a pocket novel in her bed by night lamp light. By some reader-instincts, also, I had a feeling that there was a high probability that she was at that precise moment three quarters of the way reading page 31. I smiled, and was caught thus by my companions. When asked why the freaky behavior, I said I was just reminded of a line of taxi cabs operating in the metro; strangely enough, it also went by the name Bembol Vee. "Ahhh, you mean Bembol Vee taxis?" I nodded, and they pointed towards what looked like a garage right next to that bar-converted-house. There I saw some two taxi cabs that appeared to be undergoing some minor repairs. I found it worthy of comment how much special attention those non-functioning vehicles were being given, but what struck me the most was the sign expertly spray painted on their front seat doors: Bembol Vee. How strange, I could only say to myself, that I should come across not only an eatery that goes by the name Bembol Vee, but I should also walk into the very residence whose garage houses the Bembol Vee taxi fleet. "So...?", they asked, meaning, of course, should we just stand there all night or go in and start draining my wallet of money. A single glance at their hungry eyes told me how eagerly they were anticipating to witness me lose those hard-earned pesos on something as pointless as expensive semi-intoxicating drinks, and food that weren't even healthy. "I... I think we should go in," I said, sounding hesitant, but was in truth only so out of the awe at being in such a place as the actual base of Bembol Vee taxis. I knew then that they were suspecting I might not be so up to treating them on this supposed night of fun anymore, so to dispell any doubts in them, I pulled out my wallet, and from within the money I had earlier that afternoon waved in the office to entice them. Thankfully, it was not one of those establishments that required the customers to have an initial payment to be allowed in, so my money wasn't yet needed. It brought me some relief to know that we were only going to pay for what we would order. The first thing you'd notice once inside a typical modern, urban bar would be the cloud of smoke hanging above your head, unable to escape the enclosed space. Depending on how tolerant your body was, you would surely have some reaction to these accumulated fumes. In my case, I got irritated eyes my first minute inside the place. They got itchy and watery, and I was sure they looked red to anyone who'd care to observe. I didn't mind the irritation much, though. For all the fun and the socializing of this activity, one would not let health issues get in the way of having a good time. I wouldn't even be surprised to hear of someone--even one with a history of respiratory ailments--going as far as learning to smoke just to fit in among this pleasure-seeking crowd. I didn't even mind getting a smoke myself, if not for my uncertainty on how much the price of cigarettes there increased as compared to cigarettes bought on a neighborhood sari-sari store. In any case, the rest of my companions all had "lights" by the time we settled in our seats. The next thing you'd notice in such a place would be the crowd. There weren't too much of them when we arrived--it was only an hour or so after the end of the day shift working hours--but those present proved to me to be good and sufficient samples of a typical gimickero/gimickera. "Beautiful" would barely be the first word that would pop into your head to describe them; it would be more like "trendy". The people there were a trendy bunch. There was no strict dress code or anything like that, of course, but observing them, one would be led to think that there was, if but unspoken. They basically dressed up like a typical Sunday noontime show host. They wore clothes of bright colors, and tailored to reveal and highlight the most attractive and sexiest features of their bodies. They had accessories, things they didn't really need, yet put around their bodies, all--again--to highlight their features and draw attention to themselves. Included in these accessories are the expensive modern gadgets they more of display around than actually use. Their watches, rings, earrings, bracelets, anklets, bangles, piercings, tattoos, artificial hair colors, artificial eye colors, highlights, makeup, nail polish, Buddy Holly glasses, and what have you, all play a vital role in giving them the appearance of sophistication, or, as is clichéd in the media, "individuality". And it may not even be entirely incorrect if one would discern "individuals" in this popular culture the same way we do Japanese animation characters. For the latter, costume, accessories, eye color, hair color, and hair style are employed to help tell apart a character from another, basically because of the limited number of actual human features. A funny idea struck me then that for all of the crowd's desire to get noticed, they would have saved themselves a lot of effort if they simply wore a sign saying "LOOK HERE" or "NOTICE ME". That idea didn't seem so funny anymore when I saw a man--this dude, as popular culture would require me of saying it--pass by, carrying beer bottles, wearing those very words printed in bold letters on his shirt. The menu was already on the table even before we got there. Three square tables had been connected together and aligned in one direction to seat the eleven of us. Five sat on either side of this bigger table, with me, the pairless one, and the host, sitting on the head. "Let's give our orders," I announced, only slightly--and I stress: only slightly--wondering how much this night out was going to cost my wallet. We ordered two barrels of draft beer, initially, which of course would be replenished in the course of the night. We picked the pulutan of our liking--two chicken sisig, two assorted seafood sisig, a giant plate of chicaron bulaklak, and a plate of some vegetable dish I now have forgotten the name of. Like the alcoholic drink, new servings of these food, and some others I now have lost track of, were called during the progress of our evening. With the food and drinks, there was conversation. Mostly it was about work, general matters, then the love lives (or the lack thereof) of those among our group. "I'm in love with Mina Meena," I remember joking once, after my first glass of beer, but I didn't think it had very much effect on the bunch. A band started playing at around 9 PM. They were good, in my opinion. I strained my eyes to read the name printed on the establishment's marquee through its reflection on the second-storey window of the apartment across the street on what band was supposed to play there that evening, and I saw that the band was also called Bembol Vee. The night wore on. Patrons of the place came and went, the band took breaks and changed sets, beer barrels emptied and were replenished, a companion got drunk and threw up, and just when I was on my eighth hour of boredom, we finally unanimously agreed to call for our bill, pay, and split. It was my moment, I knew then, the very reason I had dragged these officemates of mine all the way from the office to this night life district. We called a waiter and made the gesture of making an imaginary rectangular piece of bill in the air. The cost of everything we had consumed came in shortly after that. The total price of it, I will not reveal here anymore, only that as I was pulling out my wallet--which for some strange reason got stuck on the back pocket of my pants--my companions did the same as well. Before I could react, they were scanning the receipt and taking out their mobile phones for a quick calculation. Contrary to my original plan for the night, the entire group ended up sharing our expenses. I was a bit irritated. How could I ever prove to anyone how much willing I was to spend for a night of fun when no one would even give me a chance? "Relax," they told me. "Of course we'd share the expenses. Don't take it all too seriously. What's important is well all had fun." I made no response, taking what consolation I could from the fact that I would only pay an eleventh of the original price I had been willing to shell out. We quit the place at around 3 AM. The streets were still so very much alive; people only really started pouring in at around midnight. "It was a lovely and fun night out with you guys," I said. "But, as they say, everything must come to an end. Let's all go home and get there all safe and in one piece, OK?" "OK." I was the first to leave to walk to where I could get my ride. I thought they would all be doing the same as well. On the very first working day after that night out, however, I learned that after I left, my ten companions, not quite yet through for the night, all decided to go hang out somewhere else, and have some real good fun this time. |
| © 2005 Jay Santos |