groundhog night

Groundhog Day refers to "a situation in which events appear to be continually repeated."

I had one last night.

Just like the movie, my cyclical evening--though short on fantasy--was rich in hilarity, and I'm still wobbling from the laughs somewhat.

Yesterday was Love-Hate Friday: you love that it was the eve of a Saturday after the first back-from-the-holidays week; but you hate that you're planless, broke, and hungry. So right after clocking out of work, I sat on a bench with a friend, waiting forlornly for a ride to take us to some modest pastry shop where I could drown my bitterness in sinful chocolate lava and hot black java. Pretty soon, a colleague walked over to us, took a look at our wistful faces, and asked, "You got plans?" 

Vigorous shaking of heads. 

"Then come on over to the house. We're having a dinner party."

You've seen cartoon eyes flashing dollars or hearts, haven't you? Well, ours must have instantly flashed FOOD! FOOD! FOOD! We broke into indecently idiotic grins, jumped quickly to our feet and followed our would-be host like he was the messiah. Of course, we made some noises asking what the occasion was and so on and so forth, but any clear answer must have been muffled by the rumbling in my stomach! Pretty soon, we reached the house and--along with other guests--had our fill of chicken afritada, spaghetti, fried chicken and free-flowing drinks. 

My friend and I were just congratulating ourselves on our grand fortune when the good-looking young man from the kitchen who I thought was just the cook cleared his throat, firmly positioned a lap top blazing with high-tech graphics right in the middle of the gathering, and began his spiel. I almost choked on a chicken bone. Turned out the dinner was just the hors d'oeuvre to the main course which was a campaign to sell condominium units in Manila! Truly, there ain't no such thing as free lunch, baby! Or, dinner for that matter. No problem, though. What's an hour of listening to a sales pitch compared to what I would have been doing if I hadn't eaten free chicken (which was nothing)? The presentation was interesting and had my finances not been tied up in knots with university fees, I would have signed up for that unit with a balcony overlooking Manila Bay. (I enjoyed a momentary image of me sipping a margarita by the pool after collecting rent money from a parade of vacationing tenants.) But reality bit, so I gave my drink a deep starving-artist look and eyed another chicken leg. That was when the sleek white SEAT Leon slid gracefully into my host's driveway. The car opened and out slithered a vision in hijab-style silk top, tight tights, and yellow hair. Little did I know that the second repeat in my groundhog night was about to begin.

Everybody was aflutter to welcome the madam. This was a generous woman who was also quite rich; or, a rich woman who was also quite generous. She and her determined-looking Mom smiled graciously at us and offered a platter of homemade pinoy rice cakes--bibingka--to everyone. 

Had Eve known what a bite of the apple entailed, would she have chomped on it? Had Delilah known what a snip at Samson's hair cost, would she have cut it? Had Judas known he'd be forever cast as a villain, would he have taken the gold? We will never know. But we promptly gobbled down the rice cakes while the house filled with the hum of laughter and different conversations (still including the young man's spiel--this time directed at a late guest). And then, one voice rose amidst all the cacophony of warm buzz. It was an obstinate voice, rising at a steady pace, coming from my right. It was the purposeful mom! The hair at the nape of my neck rose in alarm. Her zealot eyes were fixed on everybody, her body held erect, her voice box all geared to out-talk anyone else. 

"Brothers and sisters, have you found your salvation yet? Do you know that it is easier for a motorcycle to enter the eye of the needle than for a sin-infested teacher to inherit the kingdom of God? Why can man eat so many fried chicken but cannot listen to the Word of the Lord?"  

The befuddled guests stopped yapping and exchanged has-she-gone-senile looks. My host looked stupefied. The mom didn't stop. The condominium agent didn't stop. Now it was a match as to who cried uncle first. My head began to throb.

After a few moments of bearing Tenacious Mom's incessant shouts for a soul-saving prayer meeting, we all grudgingly gave in. It was just for 10 minutes, she said.  We were all then asked to stand and--to my absolute horror--madam and her mom instantly launched into a prayer duet, sung quite lustily like true believers in falsetto and bass, respectively. My shoulders started to quiver in mirth. I noticed the condo agent's face contorting in held-back laughter. My friend bit back a guffaw. Our put-upon host looked about ready to cry. 

And so it went for thirty minutes with Tenacious Mom waving her bible over our heads, preaching the end of the world, making us feel extremely guilty for swearing, fornicating and eating a lot of the blasted bibingkas, not to mention the fried chicken! Pretty soon, other guests started to arrive. The shocked look on their faces at seeing a prayer meeting in progress instead of the promised Friday dinner party nearly drove me to hysteria. I slunk out of the door--careful not to draw T. Mom's wrath--into the garden of blessed freedom!

Two other friends breathlessly followed suit, gasping for sweet air. We got away! And then they managed to entice me to go with them to another friend's house for late supper (Jesus!), drinks, and fun conversation. It being a groundhog night, I went docilely... into the arms of the third repeat.

What happened? Oh, delicious marinated fried milk fish, sweetened rum, good people, interesting discussions. The repeat? Er... I had to sing praising songs for a holy mass. It was a choir practice I stumbled into. 

And then there was a knock. And my host and the condo agent marched in...into the late hours of the fourth repeat.