A few nights ago as I was sleeping comfortably in my tiny, tiny room I un-fondly call The Coffin, my phone suddenly rang violently–and who should it be but Cassandra Nova, who was quite frantic. It was one of those frenzied moments where you imagine spittle coming out of the phone, so I knew it was an emergency. It was pretty late, but Cassandra would not be stifled: “You are available for drinks!” she declared.
“I have no money,” I said with disinterest.
“I’m driving and I will treat you to beer and pizza!” Cassandra growled. More spittle from the receiver.
“Where?!” I asked.
So over late-night caloriffic Dear Darla and beer in Yellow Cab Harbor Square, Cassandra Nova narrated her harrowing blind date gone wrong with a guy named Hell Boy, whose face she wanted to slam down a poso negro.
“I knew it,” Frichmond said in her wisdom. “Not to be a MALTA (matapobreng alta), noh, but as soon as you said that he was asking to meet you in Starmall I knew this would be a disaster.” Frichmond reached for her abaniko and fanned herself.
Cassandra’s blind-as-a-bat date started well enough. Instead of Starmall they went to Trinoma, where Hell Boy asked that they meet in Jollibee. Hell Boy treated her, and in these times of poverty a free meal is a free meal. They introduced themselves, started to conduct themselves pretty well as people who go on first dates do. How are you, nice to know you, thank you for meeting me here. So, what do you do for a living?
“Manggagamot ako,” Cassandra meekly said.
“Ay talaga, yung tita ko pala may goiter,” Hell Boy said. “Yung isang uncle ko naman nagka-UTI. Yun namang isang pamangkin ko, etc etc etc”
Cassandra politely answered these medical queries. Those answers would essentially be her last words for the next few hours, Cassandra later told us in horror, because Hell Boy started talking about himself. For two hours. Occasionally Cassandra would try to get a word or two in, but Hell Boy was lost in the magnificence of his own voice during his competitive extemporaneous speech/soliloquy.
“Nagka boyfriend ka na?” asked Hell Boy, finally coming up for air.
“Yes, isa, last month kasi…”
“Ako naman nagkaron na ng apat na girlfriend!” Hell Boy announced, beaming. “At take note, yung isa taga-ATENEO! Je je je je je!”
He didn’t really go je je je je, but to Cassandra’s ears he did.
Like a turd Cassandra just sat there for a few more minutes waiting for the right time to escape, but Hell Boy was just starting. Cassandra would probably allow him to talk himself to death, except that his last statement made her want to actively kill him by ramming the chickenjoy drumstick down his fucking throat.
“Ilang taon ka na?” Hell Boy asked.
“34,” Cassandra said nonchalantly.
“Aaaay! Hindi ka na magkakaanak nyan!” Hell Boy announced. “Ako nga pala 29 pa lang. Je je je.”
Cassandra stood up. “O sige, una na ako. Gabi na, baka mahirapan kang sumakay ng MRT,” Cassandra said as she ran to the parking lot by herself.
We like it when vitriol suppressed for two hours get transmogrified into free Dear Darla pizza and beer. Ahoy!