Opinion: Baclaran

Original image from Flickr user ArnisD. Spot the difference.

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.

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