THE ROASTED pig stuffed with herbs and glazed with soy sauce was covered in tinfoil, wrapped with twine, and tied securely to a wooden plank. Jomar, who was already wearing his long-sleeved delivery rider fit, carried it from underneath as if it were a sacrificial offering.
Jomar sighed. He had specific plans during Christmas eve with his family. His assignment for the festivities, since neither himself or his family trusted him enough for the holiday preparations, was to buy a case of beer bottle for his relatives who were coming from the province.
Unfortunately, there was no other driver left available but him.
With a grunt, he shuffled the lechon to the back of his car before closing the trunk with a thump.
The route wasn’t why Jomar was so peeved for this rush delivery. Unfortunately, there was a slew of roadworks and highway construction projects that made the traffic more congested during this time of the year.
Jomar had been on the road since he picked up the order from Vicco’s Lechon in Alabang. The 40-year-old man didn’t even take a bath, just splashed himself with the last few drops of cologne his wife had given him last Christmas.
He sat frozen on the Skyway that afternoon, the sky slowly showing hues of a sunset.
He normally wouldn’t drive his sedan around for a delivery. His Kawasaki CT100, banned in most expressways for its low cubic capacity or CC, was better suited to taking shortcuts through the vein-like streets of Manila.
An hour has passed, and he couldn’t count the times he drew a chorus of horns and honks on the road.
Jomar mulled if he would make it in time. This wasn’t his first crunch-time delivery. One time, he had to make four round trips from Alabang to Taguig, Antipolo, Pasay and San Juan, all within the same day.
He tapped on the steering wheel impatiently. The navigation app said that it would only take him about two hours to get to Fairview. Unfortunately, traffic during Christmas rush hour seemed to be even worse with everyone rushing to holiday parties amid the roadworks.
At this point, Jomar wondered if he could still reach the 7:30 p.m. deadline booked by the customer. Feeling the time tick away, he swerved to the expressway.
“Where are you? The client’s getting mad,” Jomar rested his arms on the steering wheel and stared blankly at the message on his phone. He was in the outskirts of Makati when he received an earful of a call from his boss.
The delivery man forced his eyes closed. His head throbbed, and he wondered if the headache was due to the thousands of red lights he’d seen that day alone.
The smaller streets, at the very least, had moving traffic. Whether they were actually faster routes was something Jomar gambled on. He zoomed through the messy double-parked roads of Mandaluyong and the maze-like hill-inclined passages of San Juan.
In truth, the man wasn’t going in the exact direction of his destination. His instinct, tempered by years of dodging traffic, suggested that he take the longer routes to avoid bottlenecks, such as the intersection of Shaw Boulevard crossing EDSA, or Araneta Avenue in its entirety.
Christmas eve was fast approaching as various establishments and parks were opening their holiday lights that shone in contrast to the night sky. When he was finally a few streets past Diliman, the client who had booked the lechon was calling yet again, and Jomar fat-fingered the answer button.
“Where are you now, sir?” A deep, male voice slurred from the other end.
“Teka lang ho—” The delivery rider panicked, but the client had already dropped the call, sending Jomar from a regular delivery rider to a racing driver.
He sped down claustrophobic roads, past intersections and one-way shortcuts, across subdivisions, and along makeshift wet markets on alleys. When the chance presented itself, he’d weave through on-coming traffic just to get to Fairview a minute faster.
It was already a quarter to eight when he arrived at a gated subdivision and parked outside a house five times the size of his own. It had an expansive front lawn decorated with multiple Christmas lights and ornaments, and a garage with a handful of vehicles—each which he guessed were priced at least millions.
He then texted the client before hauling the lechon out of his trunk. He began spinning sentences in his mind, wondering which flimsy reason would be best to say.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, a man draped in a loose white polo and was about a whole head shorter than Jomar, came stumbling out of the gate. His face was flushed drunk, and there was a sleuth limp to his step.
“Hello po sir, I’m sorry for the dela—”
Jomar was cut short by the man who roared unfamiliar names. Seconds later, two young men zipped through the gate. Clothes ruffled and hair disheveled, the two quickly shuffled to Jomar, seized the roasted pork over their shoulders, and briskly walked back through the gate in one swift motion.
“Here,” He handed Marlo a pair of blue bills, folded four times lengthwise, then gestured to the delivery man to leave with a flick of his wrist before shutting the gate.
Jomar stood there, dumbfounded.
Only when a hearty Christmas pop song blasted from inside the house, did Jomar remember his own plans for the holiday. He rushed back to his car and meteored through Quezon City to find the nearest chicken place with a drive-thru.
At around 10 in the evening, Jomar finally reached his home in Pasig, stopping by the trusty store in their neighborhood to buy a case of beer with the thousands of pesos he just got tipped.
When he arrived home, his relatives all greeted him with a “How was your delivery, Santa Claus?” A few came in for a hug, but then reeled back at Jomar’s sweaty stench. He encouraged people to start eating while his wife whisked him away to the bathroom. When he finished showering, he settled into the couch with a paper plate full of spaghetti and barbecue.
Just as he was about to feast on his food, his boss from Vicco’s Lechon started calling.
Jomar frowned, hesitating before answering the call.
His boss greeted him with loud music playing in the background, before informing him of leftover roasted pig set aside for him and his family at Vicco’s Lechon.
The 40-year-old man sighed before chuckling to himself. “Merry Christmas nga naman.”