Suddently, SM

With me wiggling at her heels, Mamsie snagged the VIP invitation off RPG's desk. He and his family were leaving for Boracay the following day on some week-long Rotary conference of sorts, and three very opportunistic scavengers were waiting in the wings with bated breath to fill in the available rsvp gap.

"So, who are you bringing with you," RPG asked in a gruff absent-minded voice as he ruffled through the mountain of papers on his desk.

"Dondi and Tonet." Mamsie said, and I bounced in silent affirmation, waggling my eyebrows at the boss. Tonet, more sedate, was peeking in from one side of the open door.

"Hmmm," he concurred, blowing his signature cloud of Philip Morris smoke at all and sundry. Mamsie gave us the thumbs up while holding her pharyngitic breath, and I jiggled out on the springs of my heels, grinning and panting like an eight-week old puppy on ecstacy.

And so we three, powdered, combed and scented, climbed into Tonet's "limousine" the following afternoon, hearts palpitating and nostrils flared. Like all backward provincial hicks everywhere who have finagled their boss' opening ceremony invitation, we giggled our way into the blessing of SM City Bacolod, this grand chain of shopping malls, this Walmart of Asia.

The excitement had built up slowly over time, when this 26th branch of the chain slowly grew up a loud shout away from our office building. The anticipation buzzed through the city, as the populace sighed in relief at not having to spend on ferry fare to sail all across the straight to Iloilo to shop at the SM there.

And finally, after nearly two years of anticipation, we made our entrance into it's gilded doors.

We wound our way amongst the VIPs, the semi-VIPs, and the pseudo-VIPs (e.g., us truly), shivering in the chill of the centralized air-conditioning and clutching at each other in goggle-eyed awe, like a trio of schoolgirls let loose in Malacañang.

The general public would not be due in until the grand opening the following day, and we basked in the boast-worthy glow of being among the first guests to walk the polished tile flooring, gawk at the leaping Masskara Dancers, and finally set eyes on the great man himself, Henry Sy.

A crowd of Who's Who surrounded the founder of the SM Group of Companies, this man who rose from humble shoe peddler at age 12 to become the 14th richest man in Southeast Asia; this moon-faced liver-spotted patriarch who now sat in a wheelchair and gazed with blank detachment at the wall of people and cameras and bouncing wiggling puppies (e.g., yours truly) that surged around him.

"Good afternoon, sir!" I gushed, shaking his hand, "I'm Dondi of (so-and-so) Company, can I have a picture taken with you?"

And he glanced at me woodenly, his lips slitted open in a quarter-smile as he shook my hand back. So I tried again, this time in Tagalog: "Magandang hapon sir, ako po si Dondi, ng (so-and so) Company, pwede ho'ng magpa-picture kasama nyo?"

Again the semi-smile blank look. I was debating on having to ask him again in Chinese, wondering if he was deaf, when an impatient Tonet grabbed my camera and snapped our picture:

Hoping his luck rubs off. With Henry Sy at SM Bacolod blessing

The throng moved off, lighted candles held out, as Henry Sy and groupies took off for the far reaches of his SM realm, with Mamsie, Tonet and I - on the fringes of this impromptu caste system - in hot pursuit.

A few leagues later and out of breath, we asked ourselves WTF we thought we were doing, and finally slowed down to admire the scenery, mentally marking products and services to purchase and avail of as soon as our purses were fat with next payday's hard cash.

We chanced upon a camera crew interviewing some very tall, very thin and very white person, and in the spirit of moviestar mania, we had our pictures taken with her, too:

Long, tall and whitey. With model/actress and fellow mom, Charlene Gonzalez-Mulach

By this time, the muscles of our calves and the tendons of our insteps were doing some frenzied moviestar screaming of their own. So much so, that we blatantly ignored Sports Unlimited host, Marc Nelson (he of the rippling abs) and august warbler, JoseMari Chan (he of the golden voice), to park ourselves at the food court and gorge on the vast array of food laid out by no less than three caterer's of tasty renown,

Free food!

all the while wondering about a couple of squatter colonies at the far edges of SM City Bacolod's sprawling 16 hectares, most of whose families would be sitting down for their first and only meal of the day. SM will be providing permanent and seasonal employment to some 3,000 people at any given time, but will trickle down economics do it's magic on this job-benighted land? Perhaps in time? Perhaps never? But perhaps we shall also shove this issue away for another day (or two) while we cater to the chirpy consumer prancing madly about in our chests, panting every which way, slavering.

And so way past office quitting time and into the first hour of night, we found ourselves at the hypermarket stocking up on a grocery item or two (Mamsie went hogwild on the pork specials, Tonet took home two dozen eggs). We saw our tired selves tucked into Tonet's "limo", laughing at our adventure (a.k.a., the great office escape) and comparing aching body parts.

The very next day, we ventured out again with all members of the company staff in tow, only to be faced with a shoulder to shoulder horde of humanity.

But that is another story....