I cried the minute I saw my friend Jat at the
“Tangina bakla mukha kang ginahasa! (Fuck, bitch, you look like you were just raped!)” Then she hugged me tight, and mumbled something about missing me so much.
And so we arrived at the flat in Sharjah. See, the house is Jen’s – another friend who at that time was still back home for a vacation. So Tin, Jen’s flatmate, was the one who welcomed us. Jat – no she doesn’t live there, she also just crashes in because her own space is too crowded on account of her shoes.
So, anyway, I brought with me Jose – straight out of DDF (Dubai Duty Free). And you know my relationship with Jose, right? I haven’t, up to this day, conquered this fine Mexican creation. But I went ahead and devoured him anyway – all 1 liter of him. I talking senseless Arabic by the time I went to bed. This was around
The next day I smelt of tequila and cigarettes but had to go to work to acquaint myself with my new environment and meet my new boss (who from now on I shall refer to as Mr. E).
“Hurry up male-late ka!” I heard Jat shouting from outside the bathroom.
“UWAK…” I hugged the toilet bowl as if it was my bestest best friend in the whole world.
By
Sharjah is around 20 minutes away from Deira,
My insides weren’t helping; I was all jittery and dizzy. Intoxication, coupled with headache and anxiety, and any drunk would know this, is just.plain.bad man. Then add the crazy roads of Sharjah, with all its bends (think
“Jat, nasusuka ko…” (Jat, I’m about to puke…)
Jat, who was sound asleep, said: “Ay, putangina mo!” (Oh, sonofabitch!)
“Fuck, it’s Ramadan, you can’t eat or drink in public! And I don’t have candy. Shit. Shit. Wala kong plastic. San ka susuka?!!!!” (Now, where will you puke, I don’t even have a plastic bag?!!!!)
“UWAK…” Argh, my mouth tasted vile!
“Putangina!!!”
Jat then threw the contents of her bag on her lap and shoved the empty container in my face.
“I can’t. It’s your favorite bag.”
“Shut up and hurl!”
“UWAK…” nothing. Everything just seemed clogged in my throat. It was disgusting. “I need fresh air, Jat…”
“Putangina ka talaga, Leng-Leng ka, pabigat ka sa buhay kong hayup ka!!!” (#$%^&*$%^&#&@!*T&WE^QR%$#@%^%!!!)
“My friend,” I said to the driver, “Stop the bus now. Please.”
“Yallah (or something) parrrking is not yet!” pointing angrily that the next stop was few more blocks away.
I was cold and sweating profusely by the time Jat and I got off the bus. Then… pooooofffffft. Yep, I farted – a big, repulsive, skin-sticking stinky fart.
Jat, whose eyes are normally round, looked like her eyes would pop out when she did a double take and stared at me disbelievingly. She then opened her mouth to say something (to curse me probably), but coughed uncontrollably when she actually GULPED (and tasted possibly) my fart.
HAHAHAHA
“Hayup ka! AMABAHO pukingna ka!!!”
Just a then a cute Pinoy was walking toward our direction. “Yuck, JAT, kadiri ka! Ambaho ng utot mo!” (Yuck, JAT, how dare you fart in the streets?! So gross!)
Jat, who was busy coughing and shooing away polluted air, could not do anything but look at me with loathing eyes.
I smiled at the cute Pinoy apologetically. “Pasensya ka na ha? Baboy kase yang babae na yan eh.” (Sorry, but, see, my friend is really vile.) He smiled back but pretended to gag at the stench. Or that wasn’t pretend? Whatever.
Anyway, when we got in a cab, it was Jat’s turn to laugh.
“You do gym ha?” said the cab driver, looking at me in the mirror.
“What?” I asked, confused.
“You, instructor? Big muscles ha?” He continued, holding his biceps for effect.
“What the fuck?!” I shouted. “tangina mo, anong ibig mong sabihin, ha?” (Fuck you, what’s that supposed to mean?)
Jat, as if on cue, burst out laughing. “Waaahhhh, gym instructor ka daw!” NYAHAHAHAHA
“Shut up!” I slapped her on the arm.
“No, please, don’t angry! I’m like… I’m like muscles,” explained the driver.
“Pukingina ka, wala kong pakelam kung ano gusto mo, hayup!” (Fuck you, I don’t care what you do or don’t like!)
“No, really, I like Filipinis – they are kind and clean.”
Jat laughed some more – holding her chest like she was going to die or something.
Despite myself, I joined in.
When we got to my office, it was past
“Hi, it is nice to finally meet you Lachelle,” said Mr. E, my new boss.
“Hello, same here… May I use the bathroom,” I said stupidly.
Pause.
“No, you may not… you’re not an official employee here yet. You haven’t signed the necessary papers.”
Pause.
I looked at him incredulously. Then he smiled.
I breathed a sigh of relief. He was joking!
I liked him already.
He must have realized I was in no shape to work because he shooed me away after a few minutes of the must-have-first-day-at-work talk.
When I got to the reception area to meet up with Jat (she waited because she was sure I was going to be sent home anyway); the Filipina receptionist said: “Siguro girlfriend ka ng Editor mo noh? Imagine, imported ka from Pinas! Ikaw lang ang binigyan ng employment visa sa lahat ng Pinoy dito! At sagot pa nila ticket mo! Ang lakas mo ah!” (You must be the girlfriend of the Editor to be hired straight from the Philippine. You’re the only Filipino here who was given employment visa; plus they even paid for your ticket! You must have connections huh?)
I looked at her with disgust. I said, “Oh, so you’re one of them typical crab-like ones huh?”
She looked at me blankly. Go figure.
On the way home, the cab driver kept looking at me from mirror.
“Jat, ano problema nyang hindot nay an?!” (What’s this dickhead’s problem?)
Jat said, with a knowing smile: “Type ka nyan, bakla.” (He likes you.)
When we were about to get down from the cab, I said, “keep the change.”
He faced me and took hold of my hand, and said, while blushing, “No, please, no pay.”
I snatched my hand away and shouted, “Oh, fuck you, just take the freaking money!”
Fuckin’ perv. PAKSHET.
