pwetster
pwetster (n). 1. a hipster gone bad. 2. a midsection wardrobe malfunction. 3. the grease boy wanderer in Halang, Calamba
A month ago, en route to Tagaytay from Los Baños, our van stopped for gas in Halang, Calamba. This is the territory of one of those infamous wanderers whose greasy hair and body paled in comparison to his pair of pants - it was a wardrobe malfunction. The common deduction was that "grease boy" probably originally styled a birthday suit until someone gave him a pair of pants. From then on, he became something else entirely.
PWETSTER.
It was my 9-yr old cousin, Dexter, who came up with that name. As he saw Grease Boy do his cat walk, he chuckled when he conceptualized the name. He thought it was creative; the adults thought Dex was brilliant.
The kids in the van (a 5yr old, a 9, 10, 21, 28, 42, 43, 52 & 59 yr old) were following those pair of buns with amusement. How could someone in that outfit look from the front? This was the question posed by our 5yr old. So as the van started, the excitement built up. However, at just the exact time, Pwetster turned into a corner, leaving an imprint in our minds of nothing more than his pwet.
(Collective groan from the kids).
"That's ok," the optimist said. "We have a cam. We can take his picture on his way home!"
(Collective YEHEY from the kids)
This was momentarily pushed aside as we enjoyed Tagaytay. After our usual morning mass, we shopped around and agreed to have some cheap thrill at Mushroom Booger Burger. Two hours later, we went to our favorite Reject* store in Sta Rosa, Laguna for yema and treats.
And then, it was time to go home.
It was somewhere in the Real, Calamba shortcut that we remembered our supposed mission. We scoured the highway for any signs of Pwetster ("You guys look right, we're looking left"), and found our man in a waiting shed near the Badminton place, just a few meters from the gas station. Our boy was seated, face front, with one leg up! (GASP!)
However, there was no wardrobe malfunction to speak of. Our mission was a failure.
Still, the adults in the van (the kids' parents, the designated patriarch, the designated matriarch, and the designated photographer) thought it was probably for the best. What would the imprint be on the kids' minds when Pwetster became something else entirely? Would DICKSTER traumatize these kids, leave them with a complex, or would they grow up to be normal adults like the rest of us?
Nevertheless, DICKSTER wouldn't exactly be thrilling for our 9-yr old DEXTER.
On a lighter note, DARNA is a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen.
*Reject Stores is the term our barkada in the van calls the chain of stores along the highway of Sta Rosa, a few meters from the Enchanted Kingdom. It is in these stores where rejected chocolate chip cookies, chocolate mallows, choco-covered cookies, pretzels, wafers, and other sweets are sold in factory/reject/consuelo-de-bobo prices. The only treats not considered precious rejects are those humongous pointy yemas in boxes that also sell cheap.
A month ago, en route to Tagaytay from Los Baños, our van stopped for gas in Halang, Calamba. This is the territory of one of those infamous wanderers whose greasy hair and body paled in comparison to his pair of pants - it was a wardrobe malfunction. The common deduction was that "grease boy" probably originally styled a birthday suit until someone gave him a pair of pants. From then on, he became something else entirely.
PWETSTER.
It was my 9-yr old cousin, Dexter, who came up with that name. As he saw Grease Boy do his cat walk, he chuckled when he conceptualized the name. He thought it was creative; the adults thought Dex was brilliant.
The kids in the van (a 5yr old, a 9, 10, 21, 28, 42, 43, 52 & 59 yr old) were following those pair of buns with amusement. How could someone in that outfit look from the front? This was the question posed by our 5yr old. So as the van started, the excitement built up. However, at just the exact time, Pwetster turned into a corner, leaving an imprint in our minds of nothing more than his pwet.
(Collective groan from the kids).
"That's ok," the optimist said. "We have a cam. We can take his picture on his way home!"
(Collective YEHEY from the kids)
This was momentarily pushed aside as we enjoyed Tagaytay. After our usual morning mass, we shopped around and agreed to have some cheap thrill at Mushroom Booger Burger. Two hours later, we went to our favorite Reject* store in Sta Rosa, Laguna for yema and treats.
And then, it was time to go home.
It was somewhere in the Real, Calamba shortcut that we remembered our supposed mission. We scoured the highway for any signs of Pwetster ("You guys look right, we're looking left"), and found our man in a waiting shed near the Badminton place, just a few meters from the gas station. Our boy was seated, face front, with one leg up! (GASP!)
However, there was no wardrobe malfunction to speak of. Our mission was a failure.
Still, the adults in the van (the kids' parents, the designated patriarch, the designated matriarch, and the designated photographer) thought it was probably for the best. What would the imprint be on the kids' minds when Pwetster became something else entirely? Would DICKSTER traumatize these kids, leave them with a complex, or would they grow up to be normal adults like the rest of us?
Nevertheless, DICKSTER wouldn't exactly be thrilling for our 9-yr old DEXTER.
On a lighter note, DARNA is a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen.
*Reject Stores is the term our barkada in the van calls the chain of stores along the highway of Sta Rosa, a few meters from the Enchanted Kingdom. It is in these stores where rejected chocolate chip cookies, chocolate mallows, choco-covered cookies, pretzels, wafers, and other sweets are sold in factory/reject/consuelo-de-bobo prices. The only treats not considered precious rejects are those humongous pointy yemas in boxes that also sell cheap.
posted by kabibe at 12:44 PM
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