Aborted walk

Ihad it all planned. I was going to walk from our house in Sto. Niño Village to the office on P. del Rosario St. to signify my protest against members of the Pinagkaisang Samahan ng Tsuper at Opereytor Nationwide (Piston), who had gone on strike because they oppose the government’s plan to modernize the transport sector.

I already picked out my outfit the night before. I made sure the color of my shirt and shorts was muted. To fit the occasion, so to speak.

I figured wearing bright neon dry-fits might send the wrong signal. You know, a “Let’s Partay!” vibe. I definitely didn’t want that.

I settled for a gray color scheme. Black was just too morbid, and not advisable in our weather. I wanted to appear composed, not drenched in sweat, in case the strikers spotted me while I made my way downtown.

Anyway, I thought that if they did see me, I wanted them to recognize the hurt, no, make that the disappointment I felt by their action. And what better way to convey disappointment than gray?

The strikers should know that every time they take to the streets, they inconvenience thousands and thousands of commuters, who are forced to wait for hours on end for a ride that would take them to the comforts of their own home.

Granted that some drivers and operators stand to lose their livelihood if the government does push through with phasing out public utility vehicles that are 15 years old and older.

But how many out there still have, in their possession, a 15-year-old unit? (Don’t answer that. That was meant to be rhetorical.)

Trust me, my heart goes out to those who will be affected… Really.

I know that sometimes it’s hard to let go of something, especially if that something puts food on your table, pay for your kids’ tuition or buy that round of drinks after a hard day at work.

Which reminded of what a priest once told me over a few—oh who am I kidding—many bottles of the patron saint of Argao’s namesake.

“Publio,” he slurred. “You criticize and criticize in your columns but you never offer solutions.” Or something along that line. (Mind you, I was drinking with a man of the cloth, who, as everybody knows, has a divine connection with liquor so forgive me if my recollection is a bit fuzzy.)

So here’s a suggestion that should make everyone happy.

Let the government push through with retiring those old units, but it should offer those who’ll be affected with a replacement that they can pay for in easy installments.

As I arrived at this epiphany, it began to rain. Heavily. It was a good thing I was still across the guardhouse and I took cover.

Then I saw a jeepney approach. I hailed it and got in.