Lost or Revenge of the Mall

Trinoma Mall

I have traveled around the planet but I have found no place on earth that hosts more massive shopping malls then Manila, Philippines.  Even the names speak of enormity.  Mega Mall, Mall of Asia, Power Plant, Shangri-la, the list goes on and on.  It seems like no matter where you are, there is an enormous mall near by.  They seem to sprout like mushrooms in a lawn sometimes seemingly quite out of place.  Around them areas of extreme poverty cower in their shadows.  Massive parking garages often abut the main buildings typically bursting at the seams with cars.   The garages themselves are virtual palaces with parking floors coated in shiny epoxy and lights over the head of every space turning green when vacant, red when full.  Women dressed in bellhop type uniforms with white gloves spend their days in the elevators pushing the button for you.

Everywhere you look in Manila condominiums are rising and the malls all owned by the same development corporations, have islands filled with model buildings and sales people ready to hand you a brochure.  The models are always so detailed and enticing with parks, trees and serene pools it is a shame the final projects tend to never resemble them.

Another feast Commander sits on right with hat.

On one night in Manila we decided to meet a group of family at the Trinoma Mall.   It was another one of many dinners paid for mostly by me in which an assembly of relatives many of who I have no idea who they are eat a banquet of Filipino food.  On this particular night the guests included a number of family members of the wife of my brother-in-law and a maid. My sister-in-law's father sat beside me.  He is a simple man whom is always is quite welcoming but has limited English ability therefore, communication with him always tends to involve a lot of nods and smiles.  While he is a man of few words, I have noted that he possesses an amazing stealth like ability.  Perhaps it was a talent he learned working as a police detective for the Philippine National Police.  In my mind I simply named him the Commander.  One day we were leaving a mall and it was pouring rain.  We received a telephone call that my wife's brother would be pulling up to a curb and we should meet him there.  As we set out to cross a wet open area a man with an umbrella started to try to shelter us.  "How annoying."  I thought.  "I am sure this guy wants money or something."  I tried to avoid him by walking away yet he kept following us.  "I don't need an umbrella!"  I said annoyed.  It was only as we started to enter the van driven by my brother in law that I realized it was the Commander.   He was actually the owner of the van that my brother in law would drive and was quite nice to assist us while we were there.  I did however find out that he was not on good terms with his wife and in fact, he may have been living in the van.  This detail came to my ears later by my wife's telling and was likely missed during a long conversation in Tagalog during which I sat staring blankly at strangers eating in the distance and contemplated the fuzz in my navel.  In the Philippines where birth control is discouraged and family size is quite enormous, a van is a desired commodity.  Whenever it was absent a logistical nightmare ensued.  

Apparently there was even a movie made in the Philippines about this man's exploits although I had difficulty imagining him as some kind of Filipino Dirty Harry.  I have not seen the movie however I am sure the actor that played him must have been twice his size and quite handsome.  You can't fool me Philippine movie industry, I know the real man.

In the Philippines night descends like a hammer.  You don't know it when it is coming but when it does the world seems darker than the deepest parts of the ocean. Time also slips away from you as communal conversation stretches on and on.  Eating is not just a function, it is a social event.  Sometimes it is quite difficult to figure out a way to end the conversation and get people moving.  One technique I explored was making several trips to the bathroom.  On my final attempt that evening, I crossed paths with a rather delirious girl who was braced against a wash sink shared by both the male and female bathrooms.  She had apparently had a few too many Red Horse beers.  Red Horse is a Filipino beer that has over twice the alcohol content of normal beer.  It's a great way to get plastered at half the price.  Noticing the girls distress and my inability to wash my hands I was kindly invited by a waiter behind the bar to finish the process.

Perhaps it was my bathroom breaks or simply someone finally looked at a watch but it was finally decided we should get moving.  The Commander stood up and like a stream of new cadets we commenced to follow him.  He had driven the van to the mall and was the only one who knew it's exact location.

We entered the main portion of the mall and with great confidence the Commander lead us toward a parking garage.  The night had descended on the Filipino mega mall like a curtain sweeping across a stage.  All around shops were closing and metal gates were slamming shut. Another day of massive Filipino consumerism was coming to an end.  The halls were darkened and sporadic security guards roamed them frightened by their own shadows.  

We exited the mall into a garage and moments later the Commander turned back and looked around.  There is an episode of the TV show Seinfeld where they lose their car in a parking garage.  Seinfeld notes that as soon as you see the driver look back as they walk toward the perceived location of their vehicle, you know you are in trouble. 

His look said it all, this was not it.  A conversation in Tagalog ensued.  Often these conversations go on and on as they debate logistics.  The duration of them seems to far exceed the necessary time required to say, "This isn't it, it must be somewhere else."  After a debate we set off again into the darkened labyrinth of the mall.  The Commander was again leading the way with ten of us in tow.

Another attempt was made, still nothing.  A conversation followed with a guard who pointed us in one direction.  We traveled there only to return and speak to a different guard who pointed us in another direction.  The process continued with several more attempts being made followed by more conversations. 

Finally the daughter of the Commander said something to him and then headed off in a different way.  My God! I thought.  This is always the fatal mistake of all wayward parties.  Never split up.  When you split up, bad things happen.  Yet there the daughter went followed by her maid.  Had it come to this?  Were we now to chose sides for our survival?

Well I didn't care what the others did.  I was going to stay with the Commander.  I mean they made a movie about the man for Christ sake.  Finally as we emerged from a door a look of confidence appeared on his face as he walked toward a van in the distance.  I followed but as we approached it I secretly wondered if this was not his van.  Perhaps this van was really an exact duplicate.    The key turned in the lock and after nearly 45 minutes of wandering, I breathed a sigh of relief.  In the distance I spotted my sister in law and the maid walking toward us.  I wanted to cry.  Thank God, they had made it back alive.   In the realm of world cinema I divide movies into several categories.  You have American films that have happy endings, European films that always leave unanswered dramatic questions and Chinese films that are so tragic they make you want to slit your throat.  Apparently this version of the Commanders life had chosen an American ending.  If it had been a Filipino ending a midget would have run out and kicked me in the shin.