Big little people, little big people
When I was much younger, I saw a cartoon in some American magazine of a man wearing a tux standing in front of a lectern, and several diminutive men horsing around on top of his head and shoulders. Its caption read: “And I also want to thank all the little people who helped me…”
At that time, I didn’t quite get the punch line. Why would this accomplished man thank these otherworldly dwarves (dwende or patianak we call them), elves and fairies, for whatever achievement he was being recognized for? Was he a spiritual medium, having a third eye talking to these little people? I had to look it up in the dictionary.
“Little people” is also defined as “common or ordinary people, especially workers, small merchants, or the like, who lead conventional, presumably unremarkable lives.” It is these little people the tuxedoed man was talking about.
This Gulliver/Lilliputians cartoon was etched in my mind over the decades, a constant reminder of how important and indispensable these little people are in our daily lives. These hardworking people, from our house help to market vendors, store clerks, waiters, elevator attendants, drivers, hotel busboys and chambermaids, to security guards, mailmen, construction workers, plumbers, electricians, garbage collectors, street cleaners, etc., make life a lot easier for us. Without them, we wouldn’t be able to do our respective professions. We’re so dependent on them. Our society wouldn’t function. They are the backbone of our economy, literally making our world go round. And they go about their respective jobs dedicatedly yet unnoticed.
At the bottom end of the social spectrum are the “little big people.” You’ll spot them a mile away. They’re usually surrounded by a coterie of guards and minions. They exude this air of self-importance, arrogance, full of themselves and entitlement. Shameless and unrepentant in their (mis)deeds.
Through it all, it is the little people that suffer the brunt of the daily grind of commuting to work, eking out an honest living in this near-uninhabitable concrete jungle we live in. Yet, in spite of their travails and meager income, they show much self-respect and dignity in their work. They are the true unsung heroes of our society. They may not be remitting precious foreign currencies from abroad, but they remain here with us through thick and thin, come hell or knee-high floodwater. Hail to the big little people!
Here are my biggest little people stories from 2015:
Home Along The Kalye
One mid-December evening, our doorbell rang at around 10:30 p.m. “Who the hell might be calling at such a late hour?” I said to my darleng Mary Ann. Our kasambahay went up to say there was a package delivery from two guys in a large van.
So I went down to receive it myself since it required my signature, and so as not to expose our house help to any danger. One never knows during these times.
True enough, it was a gift box from Purefoods San Miguel (SMFI-Culinary Center) filled with Purefoods and Magnolia products. Just as I signed the receipt, the driver asked if they could park the van in front and sleep there till 5 a.m. for their next deliveries in SM Clark and the city of San Fernando. Reading their long checklist, they had started earlier in Pasig, with drop-offs in Taguig, Mandaluyong, San Juan, Quezon City, and five other destinations in Pampanga. All the recipients were familiar names in the culinary industry. ?
“Yes, of course,” I said without hesitation. I told them to use the driver’s toilet (with shower), which was accessible outside our gate, and sent them hot food and soft drinks to get them through the evening.
As I went up to report to my darleng Mary Ann, she said, “You should have offered them to sleep in the driver’s quarters. Kawawa naman.”
“Darl, I think that’s a bit too risky if I let them in. They’re complete strangers. But maybe if they had a baby with them, I would have,” not quite realizing I just bit my tongue, making a pun on the manger story (oops, two guys and a baby doesn’t sound right. Well, it’s now 2016, and with LGBT rights and all, it might be an acceptable story. Wink, wink.)
We slept soundly that night, forgetting about our two unexpected “street” guests.? The following morning, I found a note pasted on our gate door. “God bless the rest of their trip,” I posted on Facebook.
Smiley — An Infectious Disease
After several months of a series of checkups at Makati Medical Center (thank God nothing significantly negative came of it), I’ve become a suki (regular customer) of the parking guards at the basement. It is such a hassle parking there, it’s almost always full and one has to wait in line. My Sahara desert-colored SUV with “More Fun ‘Eating’ in the Philippines” stickers on two sides must have become a familiar sight to the guards.
One particularly busy morning, one of these guards was detailed right at the street-level entrance and recognized me immediately.
“Sir, waiting lang po sa Basement 5 ” he said with a familiar smile, but made me proceed just the same. But once I reached Basement 2, another guard intercepted me, directing me to an empty slot right next to the elevator.
“Paano mo alam papunta ako dito?” (“How did you know I was coming?”) I asked him.
“Sir, nag-radio po sa taas.” (“Sir, I was radioed from above.”)
Now, that’s what I call service. The rest of the MMC staff seems to be infected, too, with the same eagerness to serve with a courteous smile, from the elevator operator, receptionists and guards at the lobby to the attendants and nurses in the different departments. And they always say “You’re welcome, po” whenever you thank them. Keep on infecting people with your smiles.
Postscript: On my last visit to MMC just before the Christmas holidays, I bought from a 7-Eleven store five of my restaurant-quality Chef Series Filipino meals to give as pasalubong to the basement guards. One cannot imagine the joy I brought them. Now I’m no longer just another parking client but a face-on-meal-label (wink, wink.)
Night Rider Sighting At The Manila Polo Club
Arriving rather late for an evening event at the Manila Polo Club sometime in early December, one of the guards at the gate said the parking lot was full and I had to go out to park. I dropped Mary Ann off at the lobby and drove back to the exit to inquire where exactly outside to park.
“Paglabas po niyo, kumaliwa kayo sa McKinley at kumanan kaagad sa Harvard Street. Puede maski saan po doon. Sayang, nakauwi na po ata driver ng shuttle,” the guard said apologetically. (“As you go out, turn left on McKinley and then right on Harvard Street. You can park anywhere there. It’s a pity the shuttle’s driver has gone home already.”)
I grudgingly drove to Harvard, calculating how far I had to walk back, arriving at the event all sweaty for sure. “Oh, s**t, what a bummer,” I said to myself.
Once parked, I quickly opened the door. I was startled, like seeing an apparition, to see the same guard on a motorbike, just a few inches away from the door.
“Sir, hatid ko po kayo sa lobby.” (“Sir, I’ll bring you to the lobby”) he said. So I hopped on, like riding a habal-habal (motorbike ride for a fee) plying McKinley Road during daytime. Isn’t that what you call service beyond the call of duty? I just lament the fact I failed to get his name as it all happened so unexpectedly and so fast.
Her Name Is Salve, She Is A Salesgirl
On the morning of Dec. 23, the scene at Farmers Market in Cubao, Quezon City, was mayhem. Everybody was rushing to complete their shopping list for their holiday parties, especially restaurants and caterers. I first went to the fish and vegetable sections to place my orders, and then proceeded to Wei-wei store at the backside. It sells an assortment of frozen meat and seafood balls, usually used for a shabu-shabu dinner. We Tayags were planning one for New Year’s Eve. As I paid for the items I selected, I put down my money clip on the cashier’s table to pack the items into my chiller bag. As I was about to step out of the store, the salesgirl who attended me, Salve, called my attention: “Sir, yung pera, nakalimutan ninyo! (Sir, you forgot your money!) The clip still had the bulk of my shopping money. She saved the day for me. By the way, Salve means “God bless you” in Spanish. May God bless her!
I urge readers to share their big little people stories. It will be our way of showing appreciation for the great service they give us. Who knows where this might lead to, but it just feels good to hear stories like that of Eugenio Ventura, a 63-year-old taxi driver who refused a 20-peso tip because “it is the right thing to do.” He further said he was just doing his job as a taxi driver and was nice to his passengers because “kayo ang pinanggagalingan ng aming kabuhayan (You are the source of our livelihood),” he said to passenger Rommel Lopez, a correspondent of CBCP News and marketing/PR consultant. May his tribe increase a thousand-fold.
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Email claudetayag@gmail.com.
