  Adventures for the asking, and some not even asked for. Last week I met up with A - who from hereon will be referred to as Solemate, since that is what we call each other in real life - to work on some research we're doing for an NGO. Not exactly the job we dreamed of doing when we were in college, but then again, working is like writing - sometimes you enjoy it, sometimes you just do it for the money.
(Incidentally, Moliere compared writing to sex, but I thought I'd be a little more circumspect. ) We met up, had lunch, ended up talking about our dreams (literal dreams, the kind you have after you fall asleep), and then took off to go to Quezon City Hall, where we planned to gather some information on our research topic. How do we get to Quezon City Hall? Solemate asked as soon as we crossed the flyover to the other side of Philcoa. Not being a genius at commuting and directions in general, myself, I stared at her blankly for a few minutes before turning back to survey the fleet of jeeps that passed blithely by. C's advice on how to get to places entered my head: You look at the signboards, she instructed. Find one that has the name of the place you want to go on it, like Megamall or Cubao or whatever.
Then you get on it, tell the driver to take you to your destination, and then get off when he tells you to. Simple. But what if I don't see any jeeps or buses with signboards that have my destination's name on it? I asked. C's forehead wrinkled a little in thought, a few seconds before she brightened. Well, then, she said philosophically, You'll just have to change your plans and go to somewhere that they have signboards for.
That advice in mind, I told Solemate: We're going to get on a jeep that says CITY HALL, it's going to take us to city hall, and we'll get off. Okay, Solemate said, and we immediately hopped onto the first jeep with a signboard saying "City Hall". Now: the journey from Philcoa to City Hall is not complicated. It is a 5 minute trip along a single road; you get on at one point and you get off at another - a perfectly curvilinear transaction.
However, Solemate and I are not particularly gifted at directions, and somehow managed to get lost - twice - before finally giving up and walking to city hall. This is so stupid, Solemate grumbled, adjusting her umbrella to block our faces from the sun. We graduated from the best university in this stupid country, how the heck did we get lost? God is fair, I pointed out, concentrating on not losing sight of city hall and, heaven forbid, getting lost again.
He gave us so much brains that He figured the homing instincts could go to someone else. At city hall, our eyes were opened to two things: first, that apparently no one in city hall is aware of what anyone outside of their own department is doing; second, that very few people in city hall actually work. One woman, dressed nattily in the city hall uniform, was apparently employed solely to push elevator buttons - which she did with much attitude.
Other employees were diligently occupied in the pursuit of their own happiness, in the form of informal little coffee klatches, newspapers, measuring their children for graduation outfits, filling out application forms for loans ... Solemate, viewing the building-ful of people busily employed in doing everything BUT the tasks listed in their respective job descriptions, shook her head and expressed her gratitude that she did not pay taxes to the Quezon City government.
We headed back to Philcoa under cover of a drizzling rain, arguing amiably about the precise Tagalog term for that particular type of precipitation. At Philcoa, a bare two minutes after we got down, I felt a hand running down my butt - and it wasn't mine OR Solemate's. I whirled, smacking the arm away and getting ready to pound the groper's face - only to find myself looking straight into the maddened eyes of one of the vagrant psychotics who wander the streets of Manila. A security guard, spotting my dilemma, blew his whistle and hollered at the man, just in time to keep him from trying to hit me with the bundle of twigs he held in his hand.
Solemate, confused and alarmed at the speed with which I dragged her away and into safer realms, asked what had happened, and I told her. Omigod, she said, her eyes widening. Solemate, that's so scary. I looked at her, and we collapsed against a wall, laughing in nervous reaction. It was scary, I admitted, but also funny as hell. My gosh, solemate, can we not go anywhere without weird stuff happening?
I've been told that I'm far from normal, but I beg to disagree. You cannot blame the goldfish if the aquarium is strange - and you must admit, it is a strange strange world we live in. 
