Boys in the blue

“Now run, run away from the boys in the blue
Oh, my car smells like chocolate”
—The 1975

I didn’t have a lot of chances to say ‘no’ growing up. When my dad told me to take a nap every summer afternoon, I closed my eyes and pretended to snore. When I didn’t want to memorize the multiplication table, my mom enumerated the beauties of precision, putting me in a hypnotic trance. When I begged that I didn’t want to go to school, I cried and cried en route to campus and then sang the Philippine National Anthem with swollen eyes. 

Now you would think that because I developed into some sort of sycophant or yes man but fortunately, no. I’m a generally gracious individual, but I know when to put my foot down when I need to, amid the discomfort of others. Today’s topic involves such a scenario, though both parties walked off happy, albeit with beads of sweat on their foreheads.

If you drive or have ridden a car with a scofflaw in front of the steering wheel, you’ve probably encountered ticket booklet-wielding men dressed in blue. They’re sneaky. They hide in the bushes, behind pillars, and loiter under stoplights. When they make eye contact, your heart stops beating for a moment.

Instinct tells me to pull my window down, then put my guard up. The demon inside me tempts me to push the gas pedal, but alas, Manila traffic slaps these nasty intentions away. I already know how these encounters go and end, having been flagged multiple times. Yet the feeling of dread and insecurity rolls through my body like a cold shower.

I’ve been caught several times due to a suite of violations, including beating the red light, counterflowing along a one-way street, and turning left onto a no-left turn street, among others. The latest was for violating The Anti-Distracted Driving Act while I was crawling through EDSA’s infernal traffic.

My mom was calling, and like I’ve done in previous instances (even when cruising 80–100 kph along expressways), I grabbed my phone and we conversed. When mom calls, you answer. Those are the rules. It was one of the reasons I offered to the enforcer. To be honest, I admitted outright that I did violate the law, but I was hoping that he, who I assumed had a loving relationship with his mother, would let me off the hook.

Instead, I had to pick up my jaw off the floor when he told me my violation had a corresponding P5,000 fine. And amid a rapidly evolving world with tech developments left and right meant to streamline our daily lives, I, for reasons he mumbled through his teeth, cannot settle the payment online. He told me that I’d have to go to a center somewhere in Makati and hand over 5,000 bucks.

The enforcer noticed my jaw was already precariously hanging from my face, so he “lowered” my infraction. “Let’s change it to the violation of the seatbelt act,” he said and noted it had a corresponding fine of P1,000. That was already a win for me. He knows of the budget struggles of working stiffs like me. But then he reiterated that I must go to the depths of Makati to settle the fine—a major inconvenience for me, who lives (and will probably die) in Quezon City. 

I was already calm at this point – relaxed enough to access my memory bank filled with my *ahem* few encounters with the law. I had laid out my reasons and admitted I was wrong. But history tells me that these encounters can be settled once and for all with a clincher “Is it possible to settle the payment here?”

And off I went and dashed—I mean, dragged—my car to the sunset with my driver’s license tucked inside my leather wallet that’s now a few bills thinner. After about a two-kilometer crawl, traffic almost came to a complete halt several meters from an establishment proudly displaying a Philippine flag. I wanted to record a video of how the flag flitted in the wind like a free spirit. But I couldn’t decide what filter to use. Besides, I only had 50 bucks then. 

Instead, just like the old days, I hummed the Philippine National Anthem with bloodshot and watery eyes. I love the Philippines.

P.S.

The only time my driver’s license was confiscated was on a one-way street in Makati. It was my first time driving along the city for my first-ever job interview. Navigation systems like Waze or Google Maps already existed then, but Caveman Me stepped into combat without a sharpened tool. The enforcer was stone-faced throughout the negotiation. He didn’t give a fuck about my big day or my mother. He didn’t flinch even after I unloaded the clincher.