Blessed Are Those Who Wait

It was 7:20 in the evening.  A light train barreled into the Carriedo LRT station near Quiapo Church a couple of minutes after another train rolled toward Doroteo Jose.  Passengers filled every square foot of the carriages.  For every passenger that disembarked, two took his place, something for physicists to ponder how two objects could take the space vacated by one.

First train. Still not enough to activate my fourth-train rule (do not squeeze yourself into a rush hour train unless it is the fourth train, you’re terribly late for your appointment, and there’s a big interval between trips).  A train stopped on the opposite platform.  Seconds later, a male voice came on the PA system announcing a code yellow.  My medical clerkship had taught me that people are dead serious when they talk in color codes like code blue for a dying patient.  I started wondering what yellow code meant for the LRT-1 folks.

I anxiously looked around for stampeding passengers.  Everyone on the platform was relaxed.  I sniffed the air.  The only noxious fumes came from the smoke belchers on Carriedo and Rizal Avenue.  No additional security personnel came on the platform.  Still the yellow code bugged me, and the idling Baclaran-bound train told of a possible technical glitch.  Trains breaking down in the middle of rush hour would surely complete a harried commuter’s day.

After ten minutes, the platform was like the MGM Grand Arena hosting a Manny Pacquiao fight.  The male speaker then announced the lifting of yellow code.  The train across us shut its doors and resumed its course while a train from Central Terminal Station made its way to Carriedo.  The passengers were packed tighter than sardines in a can.

Fifteen minutes had passed since I stepped on the platform.  Under normal operating schedules, three to four trains would have already passed in that time span.  The delay promised a longer procession of overloaded trains rolling in from the south.

I was ready to break my fourth-train rule, but there was little room for my lean frame in the train.  There would be a fifth train, a sixth, a seventh…an eight…a ninth.  I reassured myself to keep from cursing as I had just visited Quiapo Church.  Besides, cursing would not bring us an empty train.

Minutes later, everyone gazed at an approaching train as if they were gawking at a celebrity on the red carpet.  The attention was well deserved because there was only one person in that train:  the driver.  Cheers and laughter erupted from everyone, and a cheerful stampede erupted the moment its doors opened.  Comfortable in my seat, I thought of the people who stood beside me on the platform minutes earlier and squeezed into the second train.  They had a few minutes’ headstart, but I had a seat while they were standing cheek by jowl.

-Prospero Pulma Jr. -