Old School

About a week ago, a local news program was airing a feature on whether or not the identities of those politicians who had hired sexy stars for "escort services" should be revealed.

When interviewed, Senator Lito Lapid goes, "Ay, huwag naman. Bakit pa, eh nagbabayad naman itong mga politikong ito?" (Oh no. Why should we do that when these politicians pay for the services?")

Guilty much?

* * *

MYLK, Greenbelt 3

The food was decent, but the service was not. The waiters (except for one guy) seemed possesed with the spirit of Paul Bearer. They trudged around in somber faces that could have done justice to the Undertaker himself. I could not help but feel that Jac and I, with our pink shirts and sunny smiles, were imposing our presence in the white crypt masquerading as a restaurant.

If you're sensitive to this kind of thing, then I strongly advise you to stay clear of this place. If you're not, then bring a picnic basket to the cemetery instead. You'll get the same effect for free.

* * *

It's funny that I have been frequenting, sort of, my nursery-to-high-school alma mater. Apart from the training session that I already wrote about, I have gone there two more times: first, to get my high school transcript, and second to use the bathroom. And no, I did not schedule a date with the bathroom there.

Among the people I saw were:

• Manong Lito and Manang Rita, who took care of me from nursery to prep. I was so touched when they both called me by name.
  
• Mrs. Gracia, my Reading teacher, who has taken a break from teaching, which she told me she has done for half of her life, and now works in the High School Records section.
  
• Mr. Nosico, who was the first male teacher my batch had and who thus had to suffer being teased to all the single ladies in the faculty. They've stopped doing that now, I hear. I wonder why.
  
• Mrs. Lagmagdan. In Grade School, the former called me conceited when I couldn't stop giggling during a singing test. I've been scolded a lot of times for not being able to stop laughing, but I've never been called conceited for it. Okay, okay. In fairness, I was giggling at how horrible the girl beside me sounded. She was laughing at me too, because I sounded just as horrible as she did. Difference was that she was able to compose herself when the teacher started giving us the eye. I couldn't stop laughing though. Between the both of us, we made the Assumpta song sound like the dying cries of a newly slaughtered pig. The worst part was that we were really trying to sing in tune.
• Mrs. Restor. In High School, the latter called me self-centered when I answered that I would not stop producing fireworks even if I knew it was bad for the environment. I answered this way precisely because I knew that this was not the reply she wanted (we were talking about preserving the environment). When you ask a question that very obviously demands a particular answer, you are goading me to give you the answer you don't want to hear. While I would have normally let this pass, something about that day inspired me to take the challenge. I answered as I did and got called self-centered. I got very offended, as she did not even let me explain my answer. Hence, I wrote her a strongly worded letter that night, and I gave it to her the next day. Needless to say, I was never her favorite student.
• Ms. Water, Mrs. Fluffy Pancakes, and Mrs. Konye, all of whom now teach my youngest sister.
  

I miss that school. And this is the very first time for me to say that.

(Just for the record, I have only cordial feelings towards Mrs. Lagmagdan and Mrs. Restor. My paradigm of indignation has long been replaced with that of humor.)

* * *

I was out with my course friends a few days back. We had dinner in Bubba Gump, where we reminisced about the good old days and where we talked about jobs and relationships. And then we went to the pub to unwind. That was indeed an evening well-spent.

Written like that, I could be talking about middle-aged men with beer bellies. And this brings me to what I really want to say: I feel old. I told my course friends that I felt old, and that, furthermore, since I was the second youngest among us five there, they should feel old too. But none of them did. Except for me.

If I were on Oprah, and I had announced, like Nicole Ritchie did, that I'm old now, I'm sure that the audience would have given a collective half-laugh, half-groan. Especially because Nicole is a whole two years older than me. But, see, I never did understand why they had that reaction to Nicole's pronouncement.

That girl was telling the truth.

* * *

I will not be definite about this, but I think that my era of metaemployment (definition: employment so beyond employment that it is not even considered employment) will end soon. Next Monday, specifically. Well, I could be wrong. And, of course, I could be right. I'm not sure yet.

I guess we'll just have to see.