![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
interview report
Another mundane day in the workplace was over and I was heading back to the comforts of my home when something so ordinary- yet it did not appear to be so at the moment- caught my attention. Do jeepney drivers rest at all?
I never had the intention of making a jeepney driver the subject of my paper. Jeepney drivers were not interesting to me at all, well, that was until yesterday when I rode one of those not-so-new “king of the road.” I was seated on the front seat, in between the driver and another passenger who happened to be a jeepney driver also. It was not easy to ignore the conversation they shared and so, for lack of better things to do (since when on a jeepney ride I either imagine things and try to make up the fragments of a story which I will be writing later on- which was impossible to do because of the conversation they had, or read a magazine or book- but it was night time so again I just had to brush off the idea aside), I sat still and listened to the both of them.
The observer in me was quick to note how the drivers related to each other. It was natural. Though when asked later on, after the passenger driver went off the jeepney, if the driver knew the other man, he was not quite sure of his name and simply replied that they met only on occasions, and occasions would refer to the few times a year the organization would call a meeting upon its members to discuss issues relating to public utility vehicle services. Occasions would also refer to the few times in a day they would stop, side by side each other’s jeepney, when the traffic lights turned red. That was when they compared notes of the day’s passenger rate, the rising gasoline prices, fellow drivers who were caught and given driving charges. Yesterday’s meeting was not so regular, he added, but such encounter happens twice or thrice in a week. It’s either another driver asks for a lift while on his way to getting the vehicle from the owner’s place, or he-the driver- asks for a lift on his way to renting the vehicle for the day.
The conversation centered on whether the driver had already made good money for the day. The driver on the passenger side explained that he was already on his way home and had only about a hundred as gain for the 10-hour job he did in the road. It was a striking revelation. It was indeed a poor comparison to the 8-hour job I spend in the office and I gain about a few times more than him. It was late for me to stop myself from blurting out how I felt. I knew it was a mistake. The man beside me smiled. I can not distinguish whether it was actually a smirk or some form of resignation to the plight of drivers in general.
Silence fell for some time. It was brief. But it was deafening.
When the man spoke again he had the tone of that peaceful countenance that you could only hear from one who has succumbed to his fate, this mere acceptance of the situation he was in that made him all the more susceptible to the unvoiced angst that were kept inside for a long period of time. It has numbed him from all the elements that were deterrent to his living a good life. He shared how a back-breaking, unfulfilling profession could be his only hope for survival.
For one who has not finished high school, driving was the only thing he knew to do. The man in the wheel nodded as he added that he is holding on to being a driver to send his children to school. We were stuck in that part of Magallanes Street, just near the Magallanes Elementary School. A boy of about 10 years old jumped in the rear part of the vehicle. It turned out to be the driver’s son. The man explained that it is one way of saving money for them.
The conversation returned to boundary and extra cash after the boy rode. The subject came after the boy asked for an extra peso to buy for a piece of bread. He got the amount from an irate father. “How could a boy so small eat so much?” was the father’s sigh. I chuckled.
During that brief encounter with the two drivers, much was talked about and I learned more by merely listening and allowing the free flow of conversation to pour in, as if water on a smooth surface cascading slowly to give its utmost effect for the onlookers. The short time spent with them allowed this humble listener to live the life they’ve been living, even if only through their stories. How they managed to get by with just a few pesos for a day’s work was something new to me.
The man beside me, the passenger-driver, asked for the driver to swerve to the curb. He was coming down already. He thanked the driver and went on his way. The man on the wheel continued that his friend was the kind who could not go on night trips since he was more of the kaskasero type, and so the loose night traffic would not suit the man. As compared to him, the driver, he preferred driving at night, starting at 5:00 in the afternoon when most students and employees are on their way home, up until the wee hours. This way he was able to watch their little sari-sari stall, together with his wife, located just around the premises of a neighboring school.
My way home was almost always uneventful. However, that fateful night, a Monday, some things just came to my senses, just the usual things I usually brush off. I was thankful for that one moment when a topic just dawned on me. Who knows, I might be doing some really good stuff on communication among drivers in my next paper.
(*since i never intended to write about this encounter for a paper, some details- such as the drivers' name, where they live, etc., were overlooked. however, i do know both of them drive Route 11 jeepneys.)
I never had the intention of making a jeepney driver the subject of my paper. Jeepney drivers were not interesting to me at all, well, that was until yesterday when I rode one of those not-so-new “king of the road.” I was seated on the front seat, in between the driver and another passenger who happened to be a jeepney driver also. It was not easy to ignore the conversation they shared and so, for lack of better things to do (since when on a jeepney ride I either imagine things and try to make up the fragments of a story which I will be writing later on- which was impossible to do because of the conversation they had, or read a magazine or book- but it was night time so again I just had to brush off the idea aside), I sat still and listened to the both of them.
The observer in me was quick to note how the drivers related to each other. It was natural. Though when asked later on, after the passenger driver went off the jeepney, if the driver knew the other man, he was not quite sure of his name and simply replied that they met only on occasions, and occasions would refer to the few times a year the organization would call a meeting upon its members to discuss issues relating to public utility vehicle services. Occasions would also refer to the few times in a day they would stop, side by side each other’s jeepney, when the traffic lights turned red. That was when they compared notes of the day’s passenger rate, the rising gasoline prices, fellow drivers who were caught and given driving charges. Yesterday’s meeting was not so regular, he added, but such encounter happens twice or thrice in a week. It’s either another driver asks for a lift while on his way to getting the vehicle from the owner’s place, or he-the driver- asks for a lift on his way to renting the vehicle for the day.
The conversation centered on whether the driver had already made good money for the day. The driver on the passenger side explained that he was already on his way home and had only about a hundred as gain for the 10-hour job he did in the road. It was a striking revelation. It was indeed a poor comparison to the 8-hour job I spend in the office and I gain about a few times more than him. It was late for me to stop myself from blurting out how I felt. I knew it was a mistake. The man beside me smiled. I can not distinguish whether it was actually a smirk or some form of resignation to the plight of drivers in general.
Silence fell for some time. It was brief. But it was deafening.
When the man spoke again he had the tone of that peaceful countenance that you could only hear from one who has succumbed to his fate, this mere acceptance of the situation he was in that made him all the more susceptible to the unvoiced angst that were kept inside for a long period of time. It has numbed him from all the elements that were deterrent to his living a good life. He shared how a back-breaking, unfulfilling profession could be his only hope for survival.
For one who has not finished high school, driving was the only thing he knew to do. The man in the wheel nodded as he added that he is holding on to being a driver to send his children to school. We were stuck in that part of Magallanes Street, just near the Magallanes Elementary School. A boy of about 10 years old jumped in the rear part of the vehicle. It turned out to be the driver’s son. The man explained that it is one way of saving money for them.
The conversation returned to boundary and extra cash after the boy rode. The subject came after the boy asked for an extra peso to buy for a piece of bread. He got the amount from an irate father. “How could a boy so small eat so much?” was the father’s sigh. I chuckled.
During that brief encounter with the two drivers, much was talked about and I learned more by merely listening and allowing the free flow of conversation to pour in, as if water on a smooth surface cascading slowly to give its utmost effect for the onlookers. The short time spent with them allowed this humble listener to live the life they’ve been living, even if only through their stories. How they managed to get by with just a few pesos for a day’s work was something new to me.
The man beside me, the passenger-driver, asked for the driver to swerve to the curb. He was coming down already. He thanked the driver and went on his way. The man on the wheel continued that his friend was the kind who could not go on night trips since he was more of the kaskasero type, and so the loose night traffic would not suit the man. As compared to him, the driver, he preferred driving at night, starting at 5:00 in the afternoon when most students and employees are on their way home, up until the wee hours. This way he was able to watch their little sari-sari stall, together with his wife, located just around the premises of a neighboring school.
My way home was almost always uneventful. However, that fateful night, a Monday, some things just came to my senses, just the usual things I usually brush off. I was thankful for that one moment when a topic just dawned on me. Who knows, I might be doing some really good stuff on communication among drivers in my next paper.
(*since i never intended to write about this encounter for a paper, some details- such as the drivers' name, where they live, etc., were overlooked. however, i do know both of them drive Route 11 jeepneys.)
