there's something about the lines here in makati. something about the precise rigid lines that define the architecture of any modern "intelligent" building comprising of the city's financial disctrict. the refined symmetry sweeping across each carefully designed geometry, adjourning every modern amalgamation of style, metal, glass, and concrete... (ssshh... ) determinate. repetitive. unbridled.
on one hand a testament to the remarkable achievements in engineering along with the city's mighty economic affluence, yet on the other, a grim reminder of the rather dull and stagnant, or mechanical lives led by its hordes of rank and file employees, yuppies, opportunity seekers and the general workforce. this is the drawback to being a hapless participant in the money making, tax charged, backstabbing friendly, frapuccino fueled debauchery that is the corporate world. you're in charge of occupying the slot in front of a pseudo state-of-the-art pc with a cheap broadband internet connection pounding aimlessly on your keyboard amusing yourself with mindless gossip, quick dumbwit laughs, and maybe if no one's looking, some online porn(nsfw in net speak), all these while watching the hours pile up til the time reads 6pm. boring. repetitive. banal.
People are not afraid to merge on freeways in makati
if you happen to be in mrt buendia during the early morning rush hours, one can't help but be amazed at the possibly thousands of office types disembarking the station, lining up the escalators, the collorum fx and jeepneys, in their ultra-slick marks and spencer imitation "long sleeves," spankin dark shades, armed with a go get 'em tiger attitude and a cologne that'll probably wear off before the middle of the day. it almost seems like the whole metropolis (even including nearby provinces and suburbs) converges at this point every morning. an army of unwitting proletarians ready to drive the economy to unimaginable heights, one more day. and that's just in mrt buendia alone.
let me tell you something about the, err workplace, i come into. it's located in one of the early batches of "intelligent" buildings erected in the district. now when i say "intelligent building," i'm not really sure what it means but most of the time, i assume its just some structure that comes with a preferably all glass exterior(to give off a sophisticated look), an elevator with a "minority report" looking digital display panel that not only displays the current floor but also the time and day (maybe sometimes even the weather or some other stuff those engineers think are useful), its own food court, gym, helipad and most importantly an outlet of starbucks. or figaro, like in our case. well i guess that's just because this is one of the earliest ... blah blah blah.
the thing is, security is usually very tight in these kind of places. they have regular guards, the ones that come with a badge and a white uniform, plus they have ummm civilian ones. the ones that wear barong tagalogs. the regular guards are easy to get past or deal with if you are already a familiar face. its the barong tagalog ones that are much trickier and sometimes require some form of ingenuity to get rid off. now, this of course, wouldn't pose a problem to your good thinkin, policy abiding building resident (and to some guys who bear an unmistakable caucasian looking white skin wearing expensive suits) since all they pester you about is to just "pin your id properly"... but unfortunately, i'm a little challenged when it comes to displaying some form of shiny identification unless it would serve as a backstage pass to some major fashion or concert event. so with the interest of providing my beloved readers another ineffectual information, and just to have something different to do in this, what would otherwise be as another mundane day, i am, going to delve into the deep nether regions of a civilian guard's psychology to try to understand its inner workings and most probably work out a sure-fire plan on how to get them out of your back and make them think you're doing them a favor...
huuugghhhh... but it seems all that thinking in english has got me a little bit... "oft-kilter." so i think... maybe i should just do this at another time... gotta run down to buy myself some of that mocha frapuccino...
