A Dog Named Sex

“Let’s play Soap Opera,”. Tabog said.

“No way…,”. Pepit became paranoid. Couldn’t blame him. He had been a constant recipient of Tabog’s Capital ‘D’. Disaster borne out of his ingenuity. 

This time, however, his invitation might not hatch unusual incident. 

In 1974, with our Bio-date stuck in our armpit, we thronged in one of the four rows of a long winding line up to register to Overseas Employment Development Board. We took a chance we might get called to work in Saudi Arabia. 

The spot where we gained access is a hawkers haven. Vendors of all sorts enjoyed plying their trade. 

To the front of us, muscled men, deduced from their posture and stature, would register perhaps as stevedores. While at our rear, male with dark skin tone wish to apply maybe as masons or peons. 

Tabog thought of the Soap Opera game to while away time waiting. 

“Play of words. Spell disaster…?

I said to Pepit to calm this nerve. 

Still hesitant, but he okayed. 

“Here’s how we play. We pitch sentence, starting with A, B, C., etc… The phrase must jibe the sentence that preceded to create a story,” Tabog explained. 

“Okay. I’ll start with A, Pepit follows it with B and Jessie with C,”. Get it. 

“All people line up here are stupid.”.  Tabog said. The stevedores in front of us threw a sharp stare at us. 

“Uh… Oh! I don’t like this anymore,”. Pepit said. 

“Come on,”. I said. “You’ll miss the fun. Yours is B,”.

“B…B…B… Boy, it’s hard,”. Pepit said. 

“My turn. C. Cut it off,”. I said. 

Tabog saw a dog. 

“D. Dog. I’ll name her Sex,”. 

The stevedores, the vendors, the masons, and the peons swung their heads on us. 

“E,”. Pepit said. “Excellent, but embarrassing,”.

“F…F...F…”. Jessie. Pepit now get into the groove. 

“Funny, too. One time I took Sex for a walk. She ran away. Took me till 4:00 am searching. A police asked me. I said, looking for Sex. He took me to jail. 

“G,”. Tabog your turn. 

“German Shepherd is Sex’s breed. So when she smelled I am a Jew, she bit,”. Surprised, Tabog knew history.

“H,”. Honeymoon, Pepit paused. 

“Honeymoon. I took Sex in a motel. I told the clerk I wanted a special room for Sex. Every room here is for sex. The clerk said, you don’t understand. Sex keeps me awake at night. The clerk said, me, too.”,

“I,”. Your turn, Jessie. 

“I placed an ad I lost Sex. A few days later, a lady knocked at my door. She read my ad I wanted sex. You don’t understand, Miss, I am looking for a dog. I do doggy, too,”.

“J,”. Tabog, that’s for you, I said. 

“In front of a Judge, we fought for the dog custody. Your Honor, I had Sex even before our marriage. The Judge said, Me, too. Only after marriage, Sex left me. Me, too,”.

The stevedores, the vendors, the masons, and the peons laughed at us. 

We are on “M.” now. It’s Tabog’s turn when he saw a Ford Fiera’s Police Patrol cruised at the street we’re lining up. 

“Mobile,”. He shouted. Vendors scampered in all directions, panicking, gathering all their goods and wares, scurried pushing their carts. 

After the commotion, the OEDB office already closed. Our Bio-data remained in our armpit.

A Dog Named Sex

“Let’s play Soap Opera,”. Tabog said.

“No way…,”. Pepit became paranoid. Couldn’t blame him. He had been a constant recipient of Tabog’s Capital ‘D’. Disaster: borne out of his ingenuity. 

This time, however, his invitation might not hatch unusual incident.

In 1974, with our Bio-data stuck in our armpits, we thronged in one of the four rows of a long winding line up to register to Overseas Employment Development Board. We took a chance we might get called to work in Saudi Arabia. 

The spot where we gained access is a hawkers haven. Vendors of all sorts enjoyed plying their trade. 

To the front of us, muscled men, deduced from their posture and stature, would register perhaps as stevedores. While at our rear, male with dark skin tone wish to apply may be as masons or peons. 

Tabog thought of the Soap Opera game to while away time waiting. 

“Play of words. Spell disaster…?

I said to Pepit to calm his nerve.

Still hesitant, but he okayed.  

“Here’s how we play.  We pitch sentence, starting with A, B, C, etc.. The phrase must jibe the sentence that preceded it to create a story.” Tabog explained. 

“Okay. I’ll start with A, Pepit follows it with B and Jessie with C.” Get it.

“All people lined up here are stupid,”. Tabog said. The stevedores in front of us threw a sharp stare at us. 

“Uh.. Oh! I don’t like this anymore,”. Pepit said.  

Come on. I said. You’ll miss the fun. Yours is B. 

“B…B…B.. Boy, it’s hard.” Pepit said. 

“My turn. C. Cut it off,”. I said. 

Tabog saw a dog. 

“D. Dog. I’ll name her Sex,”.

The stevedores, the vendors, the masons, and the peons swung their heads on us. 

“E,”. Pepit said. “Excellent, but embarrassing,”.

“F…F…F…”. Jessie. Pepit, now get on the groove.  

“Funny, too. One time I took Sex for a walk. She ran away. Took me till 4:00 am searching. A police asked me. I said, looking for Sex. He took me to jail. 

“G,”. Tabog your turn.   

“German Shepherd is Sex’s breed. So when she smelled I am a Jew, she bit,”. Surprised, Tabog knew history.

“H,”.  Honeymoon, Pepit paused.

“Honeymoon. I took Sex in a motel. I told the clerk I wanted a special room for Sex. Every room here is for sex. The clerk said,  you don’t understand. Sex keeps me awake at night. The clerk said, me, too.”

“I,”. Your turn, Jessie.  

“I placed an ad I lost Sex. A few days later, a lady knocked at my door. She read my ad I wanted sex. You don’t understand, Miss, I am looking for a dog. I do doggy, too.”

“J,”. Tabog, that’s for you. I said.  

“In front of a Judge, we fought for the dog custody. Your Honor, I had Sex even before our marriage. The Judge said, Me. too. Only After marriage, Sex left me. Me, too,”.  

The stevedores, the vendors, the masons, and the peons laughed at us. 

We are on “M.” now. It’s Tabog’s turn when he saw a Ford Fiera Police Patrol cruised at the street we’re lining up. 

“Mobile,”. He shouted. Vendors scampered in all directions, panicking, gathering all their goods and wares, scurried pushing their carts.   

After the commotion, the OEDB office already closed. Our Bio-data remained in our armpit. 

Home

When I hooked on reading, I wanted to be a writer. I had no money for a snack during my years at Mariano Ponce High School, so I hang out at the library, devouring books.

“Mga Ibong Mandaragit” a social novel by Amado V. Hernandez, heavier, compared to Noli and Fili of Rizal and of Lope K Santos, “Banaag at Sikat”.. The printed text gave me an exquisite pleasure. I read everything my eyes laid on. Because of this, I earned the ire of my mother whenever she spotted me on our hammock barnacled on the book. 

My father didn’t want me to be a writer. “No money on it,”. He said. Be a Secretary, instead. 

I followed him. But deep in my mind, writing lingered. 

It’s ironic when I finished Secretarial, I landed a job as “Inserter” one, who inserts lining inside the gloves, which a High School graduate can do. Cherry Coronado, my co-worker, introduced me to Karl Marx, Voltaire, and Mao Tse Tung. My background with Amado V. Hernandez helped me appreciates the philosophies of these revolutionaries. He invited me to attend “Teach ins,” they called it. Soon, he convinced me to organize a union. David Konfeld, the factory owner, sacked us. 

That event inspired me to write my first story.  It’s about a worker who engineered smuggling out rolls and rolls of leather, use for producing gloves. My protagonist wanted to retaliate for the company’s unfair labor practices. I gave it a tragic ending. 

Cherry convinced me to go ‘underground’ to the mountain’ – to what he said, the path that leads to ‘noble and highest struggle,’.  

“No way,”. Had enough of Karl Marx.

I found employment again at Gelmart Industries, as utility boy. There, I courted Reming, a chubby girl. She reminded me of an image printed on Darigold Milk’s label. Gave her a poem. She’s impressed;  although it’s a crap. Guessed, I am not chivalrous enough – I never paid her jeepney fare in going to work. She dumped me.   

I wrote also my friendship with Rollie Tibayan. The company fired us both.  They thought we wore a polo-shirt, sewn up out of fabrics sneaked out from the company’s premises. Outraged, we had undergone a police-like interrogation. Terrified, I poured all the shock and torment of that proceedings in papers. 

I finished two novelettes during my stint in Saudi Arabia. The place is heaven for my reading and writing. But I am not with my family. When we got to Winnipeg, Filipino Journal published my writings. Somehow I am home, but not quite. Then blogs and vlogs comes along and I retired. 

Now I found my home. How about you?