Backride

     

     

  

     When it rains so hard, the tricycle queue in CATODA barely moves. But, it is not due to scarcity of commuters. No one wants to ride at the back.
      This morning was annoying. I was about to hop in the second tricycle in line when the driver beckoned me. In a flash, I found myself, with another ‘backrider’, struggling.

    There are different kinds of tricycle in town. Not uncommon are the jeep-type (named so because passengers are seated face-to-face); the tuktuk ( a Thai name, which I prefer to call maskrider) which is the longest among its types where eight persons can fill in aside from two others at the driver’s sides; and of course, the oldest and conventional style – the one with a seat at the driver’s back.

     I have nothing against the traditional kind except on rainy days. Regardless of the driver’s effort to protect me from being wet – with all the plastic cover or cloth – I still end up drenched. Drop by drop.

     I also examine if the sludge splatters on my pants. Thanks if there is a shield against the rubbish splash created by the innocent tires. But the security of my pants doesn’t stop there. I still have to pray that no speedy vehicles would overtake us so I can ride off clean.

      I cannot blame the drivers though. It is the dictate of our society that it is more tolerable for a man to sit at the back than for a woman. And so, a man who tries to appear manly enough would accept the offer despite the agony that he would feel en route to his destination.

      Whenever I’m in such situation, I oft murmur to myself that the circumstance is unjust. Sexism is just a state of mind. I also pay ten pesos as what other passengers who are comfortably sitting inside are paying. We all pay the same price irrespective of our sexes.

     Such difficult position, I think, is as irrational as the disproportionateness between oil price hikes and rollbacks. Oil price hastily increases but gradually rolls back without hitting the base. The cycle continues. Drop by drop.

     I can still recall when the fare was yet seven pesos. It increased to ten pesos when the route was redirected to diversion road. But when the Bangkerohan Bridge reopened, the price remained. Gasoline is pricey, drivers would say.

     We deserve to be dry and clean but we more deserve reasonable charge. I only fear that when the diesel strikes high once more (as it always does), fare would tower again. The pain and torment would not only be felt by the back-rider but also by the passengers who are inside the comfy seats of the tricycle – whether it is jeep-type, tuktuk or the usual kind.
      From ten pesos, how much would it cost by then?