[ greyweed ] -- and the bored shall inherit the earth...

MRT: Embarrassing

A couple of weeks ago I had to meet someone over at Glorietta. The jeepney I took ended up in Crossing so the easiest –and fastest- way to get to Makati was the MRT. So I endured the long queue to purchase a ticket and queued some more just to get into the train.

I forgot what I was thinking of at that time, but whatever it was it got my head all busied up. I got on the train and waited patiently, surrounded by sweaty passengers to get to Makati. There was one particular guy who brandished a Palm Pilot. With stylus in hand he surveyed the people surrounding him, obviously looking dubious at one suspicious-looking guy to another.

General Rule: Never, use any expensive-looking gizmo in public. Even if that area boasted of high security. Fight your urge to boast about your cellphone/camera/MP3 player/palm pilot until you’ve reached your destination. I looked at the sniveling idiot and then at the window to find a bigger idiot…I found myself staring at the Araneta Coliseum.

HOLY CRAP! I got on the wrong train. I traveled several miles to the wrong direction. Apparently I have just been inflicted with maladies characterized among single, brown males: not paying attention and not asking for directions.

So I finally got to Glorietta and went on with my day. I eventually had to go home. So I figured I stand a bigger chance at getting home if I went to Crossing; otherwise I’d have to engage in battle with the Monster called Ayala Rush Hour Traffic.

I boarded an MRT train (but not before standing in a ridiculously long line at the station) and was contently waiting to get off at the Boni station.

Regular MRT passengers are aware that there is an announcer declaring over the PA system exactly where the train is. Regular MRT passengers are used to how badly the PA system is and they fully understand where they are no matter how grounded the audio sounded. Unfortunately I am not a regular MRT passenger. I heard the announcer mutter “Boni Station.” I crawled out of the station and then my mind got numb, my throat followed. And all I could do was muster a half-wondering, half-angry question: “WHY AM I IN BUENDIA???”

Evidently I queued for almost 15 minutes before I could board a train and ended up in the wrong station, miles from the destination. Again not paying attention.