Short of begging

We go to work using the same route everyday. So once I get tired of badgering my husband who does the driving, I look around.

I see legs peeking out from the jeep in front of us, a man on a bike beside us holding his helmet instead of using it, roadside cleaners all wearing navy blue shirts titled 'Pulis Oyster' - the definition of which still escapes me, and so many other things which I take for granted. I see them everyday.

But the other day, I saw two girls board a jeep. One was holding what appeared to be a set of drums made from PVC pipes and a can, which she thumped with the palm of her hands much like a congo drum. She sat on the step, while the other went further inside, holding envelopes.

I knew what they were doing. I'd seen it before -- kids, usually teenagers, working the public utility jeepneys (PUJ) in twos. One provides the 'music' or the beat from the makeshift drums while the other one simulates a dance inside the jeep, soliciting money for their 'performance'.

If you've ever been on a PUJ at rush hour, you would know how difficult or nearly impossible it is to get into the aisle of a jeep much more dance in it. First, you'd have to be in a crouching position because there isn't much headroom. Second, the seats are so packed, there's really no room with knees interlocking on the aisles and with commuters reaching up to hold on to the overhead rail to steady themselves.

But when the girls emerge, I see them pocketing a few coins from one of the envelopes, which they will recycle for their next 'performance'. The whole thing stops short of begging outright, which is not allowed under the anti-mendicancy law.

The girls know this. The commuters know this. Yet the coins keep coming. Every once in a while, a PUJ driver mindful of the dangers such 'performances' pose, as well as the inconvenience to the passengers, will shoo these 'performers' away.

But most of the time, they look the other way. They, too, know how hard it is to put food on the table nowadays.