An Uneventful Sunday

When I regaled Atch about the ongoing brouhaha that was the SM craze, he shuddered and promptly shelved our much-awaited plan to bring the boys on a tour of the place after Mass on Sunday.

"Let's wait two more months," he announced, "maybe by May or June, people will get tired of crowding into SM."

Woog did his pouting stomping routine. He was so looking forward to spending some serious quality time on the kiddie train that plied the commuter route from one end of the mall's north wing to the other. After such a build-up of anticipation, this unexpected downturn of events was too much for his four-year-old self to take.

Eli merely goggled at his brother's spectacle and grinned.

But Mass ended early after a relatively short sermon by a relatively sloshed Father A. Apparently the allure of communion wine was harder to resist this Sunday. So Atch had a change of heart (a very rare occurrence) and hauled us posthaste to the city's destination of choice.

The mall opened at 10 am, and there we parked with the motor idling, the blast of car air-conditioning shielding us from the summer glare, while a humongous slice of the populace accumulated in front of each of the yet-to-be-opened doors of the mall.

"Oh God, Mommy, you were right." Woog exclaimed in horrified outrage, and Atch and I exchanged a horrified-mirthful glance of our own. Should we give in to laughter at the seemingly blase observation from the lips of our little ingenue, or should we chastise him for using such blasphemy on such a holy day?

In the end, laughter won (blast our souls to Sheoul), and to my great surprise, Atch changed his mind twice in one morning, deciding to drive to the opposite end of the city to visit the other mall. I wanted to say: 'Observe my kiddies, and take note, for this is a rare day indeed, one not to be repeated in another millenium'. But Woog had gone back to sulking, and Eli had fallen fast asleep in the backpack. Oh well.

As soon as we got out at the nearly deserted grounds of SM's rival, we made a quick stop for some groceries, then brought the kids to the resident Toys 'R' Us. Woog perked up immediately and Eli awoke from his stupor to behold the colorfully furry world of plushies.

I took out my camera phone and squeezed in a couple of shots



before store security came and warned me that it was prohibited to take pictures of the merchandise.

Eh? What merchandise? I was preserving my kids faces for posterity. What did he think we were? Secret agents from the rival store, out to take inventory their stock? But the security guy shook his head adamantly: cease and desist. Fine. Whatever does you. I stuck my tongue out at his retreating back and I felt much much better.

Woog spent some time at the Megablocks station, but as soon as Eli started yawning again, we headed for home.

And such was our uneventful Sunday.

Woog eventually did get to ride the SM train, at near closing time when the crowds were thin and the train had ceased the day's run. He was beyond ecstatic. And it humbled us to never discount the simple pleasure that kids derive from such pittances. It makes their memories of childhood all the more sweet.


Would that we could have given him more.

The Madness Continues

Thrilled about a foray into the realm of mall-dom, we planned to spend our lunch hour at SM. We figured the 1-minute walk from the office to this spanking brand new edifice would give us a headstart on the rest of the city. Roming, in the spirit of bountiful bonhomie (and because he was near to peeing in his pants from the excitement), volunteered to treat all ten of us to lunch. There was a collective hurrah, and we settled down unto our wriggling behinds, every once in a while glaring at the clock and urging father time to hurry up.

Five minutes to the hour, we assembled our hick selves at the lobby, dragging along with us wrinkled Mrs. G., a septuagenarian from Sales, who started to complain about the heat the moment we stepped out into the noonday sun. But no matter, we were hungry and all keyed-up with the promise of a tour and the free lunch.

We crossed into the unusually heavy lunch hour traffic only to discover, with absolute horror, that the rest of hicksville (indeed, and citizens of the surrounding hick towns, as well) had the very same idea.

It was shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow inside the sprawling 16 hectares of mall. A throng of thousands crammed every available breathing space, sending the stench of humanity into our cringing nostrils. And where the day before the hum of centralized air-conditioning raised goosebumps on the stubble of newly shaved legs, the heat from the crush of bodies brought to us the humidity of the approaching summer. By the time we were inches inside, we began to sweat freely. Woe to the person whose deodorant was not up to par. And further woe to whoever was squeezed in next to him.

There were students on their lunch break, office workers, young lovers, old couples, berserking toddlers and screaming infants asphyxiating in their strollers. There were well-heeled hicks and rubber slipper-clad hicks. Was that the vice-mayor crushing past? (or was it the city prosecutor? Hard to tell in this slippery sea of faces)

We inched our way through, employing the sharpness of our elbows as was necessary. The escalator was blooming with people, and Mrs. G. gave a terrified squawk as this piece of moving stairway creaked in protest.

Forty sweaty swear-filled minutes later, we crowded into Shakey's Pizza and comandeered three tables, pushed together. Roming barked off items from the menu, and we huddled together in tense hungry misery, not envying the swirl of starving mall-goers wandering outside, looking for a space to eat. In fact, we practically gloated. From the corner of my eye, I watched Marivic stick out a surreptitious tongue. Sneaky.

Halfway through and still hungry

Second course, with Roming looking none too happy.

The meal, both first and second courses (who can deny the clamor of ten hungry bellies) was finished in quick quiet succession. Not a word was spoken until the last crumb was consumed. Then and only then did we rue our luck at placing ourselves in that unfortunate situation. We heaped abuse on our own hick heads, and ended up laughing and planning the next day's escapade (once a hick, always a hick).

Roming hemmed and hawed over the tab, but our server presented him with two free mugs and he promptly forked over his cash, satisfied for the nonce. Outside, the crowed ebbed and flowed, flowed and ebbed. We were stuffed, who cared about them.

On the way back, we passed through the hypermart and scored ten cups of free coffee. There was ice-cream too, but said cart was sprouting with students so we finally chickened out.

Waddling back to the office and sipping coffee, we ticked off the pros and cons of this new SM branch. All this will pass, we collectively agreed, give it a month or too.

We walked back leisurely and we were thirty minutes late for work.

Of course.

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....