We here in kuhol.net decided we needed more content on the site, thus we wanted more people on the writing staff. Given absolutely zilch budget for advertisements, I thought that placing a want ad in a free ads paper would do the trick. So I called the paper’s call center and said that I was looking for a writer for an automobile website.
A few days later I found out the free ads people misprinted my ad. I was receiving messages from people answering the ad, for being a rider. I thought, what use does a car-centric site have got to do with a rider? What’s next, a boatsman for a horse farm? Maybe I didn’t enunciate the “t” properly, like the proprietor of South Park’s planetarium. (Say it with me: planè-arium)
So talk about a mea culpa.
Another minor boo-boo I did was when I was looking for Multicab parts. I was headed to Taft Avenue, as a colony of auto supply stores lie across the stretch of the road, near its intersection with EDSA. Coming from Sucat Road, I thought that instead of taking Roxas Blvd., I would just enter Quirino Ave. and head on straight under the LRT tracks. What I didn’t know was that the stretch starting from the terminus of the light rail up until after the Baclaran station was hock-full of informal market stalls. They were not just pouring out of the sidewalks, they were hogging three-fourths of the damn road.
For those who live in, frequent, and motor around the areas of Quiapo or Divisoria, such a sight is a matter of course, of course. But for someone like me who lives in surburbia Parañaque – where the air is cleaner and the people more snooty – to traverse such a stretch of unbridled commerce was downright shocking. I thought I was going to get arrested and my car strapped to the hook of a Pasay City tow truck for driving in a pedestrian pathway.
But it was an actual road, it wasn’t closed down for foot traffic. I still was out of place. I was negotiating though the valley of fake watches and multimedia, creeping along at, I would say walking pace. But no. People were overtaking me, pissed off at the aberration that is my Elantra in their shopping area. I would have also shopped with them, possibly for some genuine imitation wallets, if the power window on the driver side door worked. Yet I was more worried about my clutch leg giving up the ghost and folding up like the legs of a tripod. Wait, didn’t I see a tripod in that stall selling CD cases?
Of course, eventually I managed to get away from Baclaran, arriving at Taft only to find out that nobody had that rubber grommet anywhere. Poopies. And speaking of excrement, I just had a brainfart. Going through that road was probably like anal sex: you barely fit and you come out stinking. And I was driving a white car, so you can say while coming out I felt like a you-know-what queefed out of someone’s nether-regions. Unpleasant, but still, an experience nonetheless.
I end this with a word of advice: Even though Google Maps on your BB says that Taft Avenue Extension in Baclaran,Parañaque is a road, don’t drive there.
PS: We’re still looking for writers. Contact us if you are interested.