Bobo

Idol mo ba si Carlo J. Caparas? Kung oo, bobo ka.

An open letter to that girl from La Salle

Hi, girl from La Salle,

You may have already gotten a phone call from one of the companies you applied for. They told you the usual BS they tell the other applicants: that despite you not making it through the next round of interviews, they intend to keep your file active for future job openings and shit like that, only to put your resume in the shredder and your name in their list of "People Who Should Not Be Hired Because They Look Like a Lower Life Form."

Now, you may have been wondering why you didn't make it despite your Garnier makeup and your strong-corporate-woman aura. You can't seem to find reasons why a competent person like you would be refused by a company you have always wanted to work for. And maybe you're right. You may have graduated with honors. Brilliant internship record. Outstanding testimonies from former professors and colleagues. What dumbass company would resist such credentials?

So why didn't you make it? I'll tell you why.

So you were called by this company, a well-known auditing firm, to take their preliminary exams along with a bunch of other applicants. You entered the building and sat on one of the lobby seats. Beside you was another applicant, a short-haired girl who looked more like she graduated from high school than college. You see her arranging her files and making sure she didn't forget anything. You also see that this girl looks so calm and ready, prepared to take your position, as if you're already a lock to win it.

Immediately you feel threatened. You measure her every move and look for particular weaknesses you can take advantage of. You critique her clothes, telling yourself they're no match for yours. You check every detail of this girl's appearance, reaffirming what you have been believing all along, that you will get this job. But to further validate your superiority over this applicant, you had to hear her voice. You know, just so you could conclude that this girl is indeed a puny little weakling. So you ask her a question:

"Hi. Saang school ka gumraduate?"

Now you probably have figured out a list of possible schools where this girl graduated from based on her appearance. And you concluded that she came from a lowly state university that has rowdy students and rotting armchairs. Not to mention the two-figures-per-unit tuition.

But nothing prepared you for this girl's answer.

"Ateneo."

You puke inside your mouth and yell "Blasphemy!" You stare her down, slowly, from head to toe and back, trying to reconcile these seemingly inconsistent facts in your head. How could someone like this afford a university education? And from a rival university at that!

You plan a comeback, a particularly simple one designed to leave this applicant’s self-confidence in shambles. You stare at her real good, and with your best bitch face, you say:

“You don’t look like it.”

You secretly snicker at your little payback, proceeded to take the exam, with the belief that you are the chosen one.

A little newsflash for you, girl from La Salle: That girl you mocked a few weeks ago went on to produce one of the highest test scores in the history of the company. She was officially hired on July 20. Let me just stress here that the company hired her and not you.

That is karma for you, my interesting La Sallian biatch whose attitude rivals that of a sewer.

So now you learned your lesson, girl from La Salle. You’ve probably committed suicide by now but here’s the thing: Just because you’re from La Salle doesn’t make you awesome. And just because the girl sitting next to you is from Ateneo does not make you more awesome. And I bet it didn’t occur to you that this girl has a brother who LOLs at stories like this so much that he just had to wake up from a long blog hiatus to tell the world of your douchebaggery.

What? You still think you’re awesome? Well, could you explain this to me?



Thought so.

Good morning. Also, screw you.

Have you ever stopped and wondered why jeepneys always, always, get their maximum passenger capacity wrong? Ever ridden a "10-seater" that has room for only 8? Ever got mad at the barker for making you believe you'd fit between two fat guys who obviously don't have any plans to make room for you?

I don't know who to blame for this one: the jeepney manufacturers who seem to believe the average Filipino is thin as a twig, or insensitive fat-ass people who seem to enjoy every little bit of space they're occupying while the other guy keeps sliding off the seat because apparently his tailbone isn't built for situations like this.

So there I was, early in the morning, huffing and sweating, trying to squeeze into an obviously unoccupiable space as the jeep rolled through Ayala Avenue. It could have been a lot more comfortable for me if I sat on the floor, but that would make me a loser, right? I mean, I pay the same fare and all I get is a dirty-ass jeepney floor. What kind of injustice is that?

What's more frustrating is when I looked to my left, and there was this really fat woman who doesn't even make an effort (or at least pretend she's making an effort) to move. I was going back and forth like my butt was itchy and the only form of relief was by rubbing against the jeepney seat like I had fleas or some shit, and the lady was just, I don't know, immobile. Should have whistled a happy tune to really rub it in. Good thing the guy to my right was considerate enough to move forward and create a little more space for me. Unfortunately though, by the time I stepped out of the jeep, I was sweating profusely, my legs were shaking, I was breathing from my mouth and wondering what the hell just happened.

Yeah, good morning indeed.