this story originally appeared in the philippine daily inquirer on November 15, 2001.
Greenhills has always been the place for great buys and rare finds. A regular visitor, I was there to exchange one of my great buys and found something rare indeed: trouble.
The telecom stall is located in a corner in front of the corridor leading toward the only toilet in Virra Mall. It is owned and operated by somebody we will call Ali, apparently someone from Mindanao who is thinner than a slim batt but with a tongue that is nastier than your worst ringing tone.
The story begins when I purchased a slim batt for my 5110. A feeble attempt to dress up a down-to-earth (cheap) mobile. Of course, upon purchase, the saleslady gave some helpful tips on how to take care of my new acquisition. A scene reminiscent to that movie “Gremlins.” She told me to be mindful of the charging time. Slim batteries get full easily. If fed too much, it will expand.
Easy. I coughed up P300 for lightweight battery bliss. For the next two weeks, even my slacks got slimmer. No more bulky bulge. No more heavyweight hulk. No more fat batt. Ahh, sweet. I was actually content. I was even proud of my featherweight phone.
But satisfaction came with a price. I had to keep an eye on it while it charged. And did I pay, dearly. Instead of watching Johnny Knoxville swing a sledgehammer to his crotch, I had to sit and watch the itsy-bitsy battery icon as it loaded. Needless to say, I slowly found myself connecting to my Nokia.
No love story can be great without a tragedy. One scorching Sunday afternoon, the battery charger switched to hyper mode. I was stupid. Inconsiderate. Careless. Horny. I left my phone alone with the hyper charger because Rica Peralejo hexed my hyper hormones. “Balahibong Pusa” made my balahibong macho crawl. After her set, although I was a bit disappointed because I was almost certain her “set” would pop out but it didn’t, I checked on my fancy 5110. And there it was, sweating. My violated phone was even hotter than Ms Peralejo. I urgently snatched her (my phone, not Rica) from the hyper charger. And my battery was never the same again. Damn you hyper hormones!
Naturally, I had to return to my good old, fat batt. I knew this reunion would not last. I’d been floating in the clouds and I refused to be dragged down.
As any responsible consumer, I make it a point to ask for a receipt. And I also make sure I keep it. So begins Greenhills revisited.
On the way, I was a tad apprehensive. Trying to exchange items bought usually turns into an exchange of hostilities. Is it just me, or do Filipino merchants still don’t give a damn about consumer rights?
I brought my girlfriend along. A brief profile is in order then. She gets her way-always-no matter what the cost. Bringing her seemed like a smashing idea.
Anyway, the telecom stall was now within striking distance, and I was dead sure the Gremlin saleslady recognized me. Eye contact and a welcoming attitude gave her away. For a moment there, I thought everything would go smoothly. I was dead wrong.
So I pulled out the bogged-down battery and the almighty receipt. It did not take an Einstein to figure it out. She knew our purpose.
All of a sudden Gremlin saleslady turned to lying, sack-o-septic waste Pinocchio. As the jargon goes, deny to death ang bruha.
To death would have been an accurate estimate. My girlfriend is as persistent as a 2-year-old on steroids. (I’m really not quite sure what that means, but I’m sure you get the drift.)
Pinocchio saleslady eventually reached her nose-stretching limit. So enter, owner-operator Ali, with brother with a moustache, plus friend with a moustache who looked like Ali, plus other friend with a moustache, tacky gold necklace and dirty old glasses, also an Ali look-alike, plus the man who sells popcorn in the corner who could really use a bath and an industrial strength anti-perspirant. In short, a mob retaliation unit.
They kept on insisting that it was not their receipt. Fine. I was about ready to leave. Of course, on account of the Ali look-alike with the tacky gold necklace who warned us: “Alis na lang kayo, puro Muslim kami dito.”
But, my girlfriend lives up to her profile. No matter what the cost, baby. All we wanted was an explanation and Ali started calling us names. I was about ready to leave, but nobody calls me stupid-even if it is fairly accurate at times.
The arguments were so heated I thought Virra Mall would once again burst into a raging fire. And sweaty, popcorn man started getting physical. He pushed like butter though-soft and slippery. I could have pounded him with a jumbo tumbler.
My girlfriend started to get smart and called the men in blue. And as soon as they arrive, all the moustache disappeared faster than an electric razor can shave. And sweaty, popcorn man retired to his corner, and vented his frustration on, what else, but popcorn. However, Ali and Pinocchio stand ground. It was their stall after all.
Off we marched to the decrepit, little police station on the parking lot. Matters were settled quickly, as it was late and no one was going to get paid over time. Ali apologized. He reasoned that he just came in from wherever, fresh out of a domestic scuffle with wife No. 5, and was in no mood for diplomacy. The police escorted us to the store indicated in the receipt. The store exchanged the item, no questions asked.
I’ve got my slim batt. No one got hurt. Except for popcorn man who scalded his tongue with hot butter. And everything ended well.
Except for one minor detail. Although it pains me to admit, I brought the wrong, damn receipt. Yes, I showed them the wrong receipt. And once again, the perspective of right versus wrong has completely collapsed. I was probably more responsible for the ruckus than Pinocchio could ever be. But she lied. I still have the receipt, the real one to prove it. I just did not have it with me that fateful night. Okay, fine. You can call me stupid.
Be that as it may, I still learned valuable lessons from this misadventure: Don’t lie. Always check your receipt. Even the innocents are not spared from the consequences of war. (The other store replaced my old slim batt even if it was not theirs in the first place.) Always take a bath because you will never know when you may have to accost a customer. And finally, phone love can be fatal.
