The Glamarazzi

My apartment is situated at the heart of the city. To be specific, it is near the red light district cause that’s where the Cebuanos’ heart is. Ü At past midnight, it is normal to see the streets filled with cars from the number of strip clubs that are lined up near the highway and the numerous pimps and call girls stationed at their designated posts.

Since my work is at 1am, and I am referring to my normal job in PS, I leave the house at 12am and hail a cab outside.

In a span of 10-30 minutes waiting, a lot can happen. Everyday.

A car usually stops by, a window is rolled down and a face that is hardly discernible goes, “Hi, babe.” I smirk, walk a few steps and turn away.

Or a car was persistent and followed me where I went. I shook my head and politely said, “No,” while muttering “Go away,” under my breath.

Or a black Crosswind turned around in circles and the driver shouted ‘psst’ until I gave him the finger and he stopped and asked, “Where can I take you?” between ragged breaths. Even if I’m running late, there is no way I’d be tempted to go. If he has the face of Steven Strait ,  I’d happily hop on without questions. Haha.

Or a car full of men drove by and waved and I waved back, and to my horror they stopped the car, turned around and asked me to hop on. I was late already at that time and doing 8 men in 30 minutes will make me later so no, I shook my head again.

Or worst, a woman drove by and… I shook my head again.

One time I was sick of the hoots and the pssts and the catcalls that I wore a tight polo, collar and buttons all closed, a black pair of jersey slacks and a pair of eyeglasses that even my grandmother would love to steal it from me.

They would still stop! Amazing. They don’t have respect for a lola-looking woman standing in the street.

 The funniest is when while waiting, a gay guy in a tank top and itty bitty shorts was powdering its (he was a freak show) nose when I happened to arrive and started my wait. He gave me a once-over, snapped the compact shut and sneered. Freaked out, I started to move away and stood on a lamp post when it hurriedly went to me and imposed its stance by jutting a hip and putting a hand to it. I stifled my laughter or else I’d get a good bashing so I walked a few blocks back and ran to an empty cab.

I’d probably make a better living just by standing for ten minutes, don’t you think. Imagine all the moolah I’d get if I’d hopped on to those cars. I would just give the money to the street kids that I also see lying on the road with only strips of carton as bedspread and newspapers as blankets. Its so sad they way they are sprawled on the street as if they are sleeping in a first class hotel on a king size bed with a 450 thread count bedsheet. Tsk tsk. They’d benefit more from my easy money.

Tomorrow, I’d be standing on that same post again, bracing myself for the cars, and the gay guys and the skimpily-clad girls and the street kids. Back to work again.

“Its fifty bucks for half an hour, and of course, 50 percent of that goes to the disaster relief fund.”

-Cartoonstock.com

UPDATE:

This blog post has been featured and published at SUNSTAR. Read about it here.