Short Story: Sell-Out

There I was in the middle of traffic, anxiously looking around to see if I'm still in Manila or I've already driven the car at the edge of Mars. So many left turns and right turns to make I'm not sure how I'll get to Paranaque. Although I used to live there, I have never driven a car outside our village and certainly not as far away as Bulacan. Besides, I have lived in Negros for so long I'm practically a promdi (from the province).

"Where are you?" asked my cousin over the phone, a touch of worry in his voice. I promptly enumerated all the landmarks within my eyesight. Near R. Papa station. KFC. A bridge with cute lights. Which all means, I'm practically but not hopelessly lost. "Sige, take this and this road. I'll see you in an hour."

I wish it were that uncomplicated. Right after I made a U-turn-which I only hope was a U-turn slot-I heard the scary beep of a motorcycle behind me. Brown arms on my rearview mirror waving a black, slim notebook in the air, motioning me to stop. A cop. I was tempted to make a run for it but with the traffic ahead of me, he would catch up as easily as a rabbit against a turtle.

"What's my violation, sir?" I asked sweetly, looking at his furrowed brows.

"I've been motioning for you to stop. Why didn't you?" he asked, his pen poised on the ticket he seem too eager to issue.

I explained that I didn't notice him; that I was too busy wondering where I was because I wasn't used to driving in the city, all the roads were unfamiliar-all the good reasons I can think of so he'd take pity on poor, provincial me.

"It's your coding today."

I sat there, aghast, unable to express my frustration/anger at myself for forgetting such a simple rule like color-coding. I want to pull my hair, scratch my eyes out of its sockets. All cars with plate numbers ending in 1 and 2 are not supposed to be out on the streets every Monday. I was reminded of that before I left for Manila. Damn!

I apologized, told him it was a sincere mistake. He nods, says he'll escort me to the nearest mall which is just a few blocks away. He advised that I see a movie first until 7pm when the coding for my car expires.

I was overcome with so much gratitude. "Thank you so much, sir. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Looking at me straight in the eye, he said, "Don't thank me yet. So...how much?"

Ah, yes. I forgot that this is good old Manila where you have to run to eat, where no good deed is without a price. Corruption was what I fought against in college. It was what we loathed in the government and now corruption is staring at me right in the eye.

He answered his own question. "Five hundred should be enough."

He let me go without a ticket for 500 pesos. And not only that, for a mere 500 pesos, I was also escorted to the mall like a princess, all the other cars giving way so we can pass because I was with after all, a respectable upholder of the law.

It could be worse. Had he issued a ticket and took my license; I sure would be spending much more than 500. I waved goodbye to my friend and partner in crime, the policeman.