It’s really humiliating that you borrowed some lady’s lighter twice at Figaro just because you’re clumsy or stupid not to light your stick on the first attempt. So you have to come back to that lady and ask it again, and explain why you’re stupid in the first place.
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Some weeks ago a friend from High School begged for my help with regard to some book review of this Filipino author I could barely remember (but the book is entitled ‘Andromeda and other stories’, so maybe you could search it up). I sent it to her through e-mail.
Thursday night another friend from High School insistingly said in her text message that I could help her on some company endorsement/advertisement. Well, she knew my being Photoshop-literate but I never excelled or even bragged about it since, in a larger scale, I’m nothing but teenage dirt who could only despeckle pictures with the use of CS2’s programmed abilities. It’s really stupid to admit that these guys somewhat adore me for being Photoshop-literate when in fact, being one requires nothing but understanding (and the only skill you need is patience, patience and tons of patience). I told her I’m really busy for the following days but I’m good with Friday night.
We met at Trinoma. I was there at exactly four in the afternoon, harassed from the two-hour travel from Laguna and the usual claustrophobic scenes at MRT. I waited for about an hour for them so I scanned the entire mall (I actually circled through the MRT entrance where I expected them to come - round and round the outskirts of Mister Donuts, Goldilocks, steering left to Landmark and back to Mister Donuts) and I saw, of all people, self-absorbed Rens and his school uniform. He looked puzzled and surprisingly serious and I saw him coming from the escalator and he was one of the last persons I wanted to see on a mall, dammit.
Finally, my clients made it to Breadtalk and there we met. We went straight to Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf and there I plugged in my laptop charger and did what I was told: make three magazine-sized and one billboard-sized ad for her Speech Communication class at UST, which was probably the last thing to expect from someone taking up Commerce. They provided the pictures (most of the poses are sexy, I admit, but not to the point of erection) and all I had to do was to blur the backgrounds, adjust the colors, alter the brightness and on one occasion, use the History brush.
At 7 pm, my stomach was growling from its eight-hour hunger strike. They first treated me a plateful of pesto at Figaro. There I had to do something really out of my league, something that exceeded my expectations with my confidence. Nowadays I don’t smoke but at that night, the biting cold made me buy to the nearest street vendor three sticks of Marlboro lights.
“I don’t know why but I’m going to approach that girl on the far corner, near the balustrade, that girl wearing this mint green cotton hoodie and ask her if I could borrow her lighter for a smoke,” I confidingly, in first person, told my client-friends. Then I stood up, approached that lady and asked one of the nicest things I’ve ever asked to a stranger in this polite, suave-as-hell way.
“Can I borrow your lighter?”
It probably sounded perfunctory but I think I’ve managed to make it sound a bit spontaneous. She gladly said “sure, you can.” I kept lighting my cigarette but it won’t light–blame the harsh outdoor winds for that. I cupped my hand and sheltered my cigarette and the lighter from the winds and it was successful.
I went back to my seat and there I read Harp, written by John Gregory Dunne. I’ve actually planned to bring it in case I got stuck from a boring situation (like I always do) and as usual, circle the words that’s inexplicable enough to even figure out through context clues and all that shit. All the while I’m just faking to read the whole book.
I haven’t noticed that my cigarette stick ran out of its embers so I went back to the lady and asked if I could borrow her lighter again since I’m really stupid and clumsy not to notice that it was a bad smoke (my friends and I technically call that instance a bad smoke). She slightly laughed and said something I haven’t heard quite clear. I can tell I was quite nervous but I snatched the lighter out of her table and lit my stick.
The food trip goes like this:
- Figaro: The pesto tasted great if sprinkled with lots of parmesan cheese (again, like I always do). Herbs and cheese incorporate in your mouth and it’s just really good. Or maybe I was really craving for pesto that day. One of my clients gave her comments on the pasta, that it was oily, but it’s okay since it’s olive oil anyway.
- Oliver’s Super Sandwiches: I have to spent money myself (since my clients felt indignant when I told them they have to treat me again) and bought a sandwich at Oliver’s Super Sandwiches. I ordered their Protein-Rich US Prime Roast Beef. It was probably a failure of choice since that very sandwich doesn’t really taste quite well as I have expected: the beef’s too thin to even savor the meaty flavor. And the cheddar cheese is worth 18 pesos, damn.
- 5 Cows: Flaming Alaska for the dessert. It’s tempting really: they served this meringue-covered ice cream cake and they drowned it with flaming rum (they ignited the rum with fire and there goes the flaming Alaska) PLUS the entire crew would shout like madmen (and I don’t know why, but maybe Flaming Alaska’s symbolic for them). It was way more spectacular that I’ve expected. Ice cream + rum = the perfect dessert for then-drunkards.
I went home with my friends with a thin, thin wallet. I’m, as always, broke. But I don’t have to contest myself for that: food is definitely worth paying for, among others.
