My twin and I were heading to MarketMarket in BGC. To get there, we had to take one jeep to a stop where we could take a MarketMarket fx. The jeepney ride was uneventful – we sat in front. The streets and vehicles were almost empty, because the Papal visit caused a city-wide holiday, giving us a five-day weekend.
Because of this, five or more fxs were stopped at the terminal. We went to the one that was filling up, and I led the way to the empty front seats. The door, however, was locked. I stared at the handle like my eyes were sonic screwdrivers, but nothing happened.
A terminal-keeper, one of those members of the informal sector that organizes human traffic better than the government, came up and banged on the door to alert the texting driver. The driver looked over, laughed, and extended his cellphone towards the door, pressing a button as one would to unlock a fancy car.
“Bukas na (it’s open),” the terminal-keeper said.
Like an idiot, I tried the handle again. Both the driver and the terminal-keeper burst out laughing, and the driver leant over and unlocked the door. Then they laughed some more about using the cellphone as a remote.
One of the things I love best about commuting is that I have a chance to observe the people around me. Simple moments of humour between friends on the commuting circuits are oases of joy and cheerfulness in the midst of the stress that comes naturally with travelling by the wits.