How to Be Rude: Directions

If you were on the 20th floor of the Galleria Holiday Inn, and you jumped out of your hotel room twenty floors down to your death by massive impact, then it's a sure bet that we will be looking at your unsightly, mangled remains as it lay undisturbed near our smoking area. That's how close we are to the Galleria Holiday Inn.

 

So I was at work this one time, and I decided to take a break from my kinky night job. I was on the night shift, and it was three in the morning. I was enjoying a cigarette when this woman, in her thirties, I suppose, called out my attention. I decided that she was asking for directions, because she was shouting "Puwede pong magtanong/ Can I ask you a question?" from a distance. That distance was a good eight or nine feet away from my smoking coolness.

That's how it usually is in the third world. It's usually for directions when a total stranger addresses you with that familiar, high pitched urgency. Unless, of course, they want to know if you are interested in having a "good time." "Good time, ser?" No, they don't think that you look a little on the down side and can use some cheering up. They think that they need to get you some pussy. Or a mouthful of cock. Whatever. A "good time" is street talk for a sexual solicitation. And it should not be confused with actual good will because that is exactly what a six-year old child will believe. And you are not six years old.

And besides, there is no way in this God forsaken outsourcing third world that That bitch was soliciting me for sex. Oh madre de dios hell no. I could smell my homo from your side of the internet.

Anyway, she was maybe five foot four, scrawny, had a mess of long, thin hair, and she was wearing what appears to be matching office garbage. It was three in the morning, and there was very little light with which to support my judgment, so I could be wrong. It might not look as masterfully tailored in broad daylight. Again, I could be wrong. But I doubt it.

She approached me, and she was about three feet away from me when she started reading from this piece of paper in her right hand. And she asked me, loudly, "Alam niyo po kung saan yung Gallery Holiday I-N-N/ Do you know where the Gallery Holiday I-N-N is?" Yes, she spelled it out, and I'm not kidding. Her face was smiling and visibly clueless; it was some absolutely hilarious shit. But it didn't sound right, clarifications are in order, so I puffed me a good one, and I asked, "Ah, baka yung Galleria Holiday Inn/ Do you mean the Galleria Holiday Inn?" She briefly consulted that piece of paper she was holding in her right hand, looked back at me dismissively, and she said, "Hindi po. Yung Gallery Holiday I-N-N po/ No, the Gallery Holiday I-N-N."

Obviously, she was referring to the Galleria Holiday Inn, but her insistent emphasis on the spelling was just beyond me. So I told her "Ay hindi ko alam yan/ I have no idea." And I gave her a practiced smile, which is the facial equivalent of " leave me alone, stupid," and I lit another cigarette to drive the message home.