Ronald, the unhealthiest clown of all, is waving eternally to the indifferent road in front of me. Chemae and I are sitting, contemplating nothing outside the thousandth yellow and red all-American fast food we’ve dined in. At 10:30, Chemae will go to another final interview — she’s already had two in barely two weeks of “job hunting.” This time, she’s facing a more frightening adversary: a Caucasian client. It sounds racist but this feeling of fear IS racist. Final interviews with people of a different race than ours are just scarier — at least for us. In my case for example, the last time I talked with an American was ages ago. I watch Americans on TV and on the big screen all the time but when it’s actually time to face one — their big, white face looking at you with that big, bony nose in front — the feeling is really different. It’s racist fear but it’s real and natural. And Chemae, clearly preparing herself psychologically now, is about to face one of them scary beings in just a few minutes.
11:00 PM, probably
At last, his heart wrenched by pity, one of the cashiers instructed another to change my money. It’s a Php 20 bill. I need Php 5 coins to charge my phone or else I won’t know if Chemae’s final interview had already become a Wild West shootfest or some other crazy all-nighter. It’s probably 11:00 PM — not sure because my phone is inside the charging vending machine or charger vending machine. Continue reading