Before I Do

Chapter 5: Comic Stealers

Do you know that beauty queens are not naturally morena (olive-skinned)? Most, if not all of them, get their perfect bronze glow with the help of bronzer and a can of non-stick oil spray.

Sometimes, when I want to be mean, I think of them as marinated chickens fighting to win the coveted crown. Now I get the connection between cock fights and beauty pageants. And believe me, these ravishing beauties – even the ones that are not really pretty - are in it for the kill.

On this particular day, our beauty queen is not the morena kind but she is positively glowing in her sequined gown under the midday sun.

Shit. A year ago, if you ask me what brand of panty liners beauty queens wear, I will roll my eyes in disgust. Obviously, I didn't care back then. Before I landed this job, I knew nothing about beauty pageants, much less about pageant tips.

But today, ask me the same question and I will tell you what brand beauty queens use and tips on how to make them invisible underneath those bikinis.

That's the problem when you're on the inside. You start to develop this genuine empathy towards these women who, you first thought, were molded artificially and put on stage to make other women feel bad about that fried chicken they had for breakfast.

When you work behind the scenes, you hear the heartbreaking stories behind their smiles. You see the pins and the traumatizing amount of hair products that glaze their heads. You see the wedges (even flats) under their beautifully beaded gowns and know for a fact that they carry their own gowns (no helpers here) and bring their own make-up. You see how they guard their stuff fiercely because of horror stories about evil candidates who break heels and sprinkle soil and itching powder on the makeup and gowns.

When you work on the inside, you know there are boxes of used silicon boobies and soiled golden bikinis in the warehouse that haven't been washed in years. You know the girls can't bring any of these "pageant materials" home so they can wash them. That's why the pageant veterans and those newbies with agents wear skin tone undergarments during fittings and even photoshoots to avoid getting fungal infections. You know the girls need to weed through the soiled pairs of bikinis fast so they can avoid getting the ones with skid marks.

When you work behind the scenes, you know all these are true because you have personally witnessed them. You know these are true horror stories because you one accidentally touched a piece of silicone boob that one pageant contestant dropped. You know that not all of those tanned legs are real because you had to singe a social media-based public relations nightmare when one of your girls walked on stage during the media presentation with half of her leg without makeup while the other one forgot to wear a camel toe guard.

On the flipside, you also develop an automatic defense system whenever semi-hopefuls from hell gatecrash your events hoping to be discovered by talent managers and camp gurus. Sadly, the only thing that I developed over the years was my temper in trying to explain to non-media folks in several languages and several hours that this is an invite-only event and they are not on the list. Lastly, you will feel the need take up target shooting whenever die-hard fans pretend to be media representatives and try to slip through the doors when you're about to go on a bathroom break.

My officemates and I are walking along Ayala Avenue, a few yards behind the pink float. The young Makati crowd is taking photos of our beauty queen who is busy taking selfies with her smartphone. Some people call it vanity. I call it a necessity. If I'm that pretty, I will hire an on-call personal photographer whose sole purpose in life is to capture every fabulous moment of my fabulousness. I don't blame her.

I am fiddling with my smart phone and posting online updates when I find myself unable to get back to the main road. Shit. I forgot all about the steel barricades that line the main road. I quickly duck into the underground walkway and emerge across the street when I bump into a familiar face.

"It's you." It's the tall guy from the bookstore earlier. "Mean girl."

"And you," I reply, mimicking his royal freshness. I don't have time for this. "Jerk face."

I expect an equally mean response and prepare my stance for a fight but what he does after completely stuns me. He laughs. It's one of those wholehearted laughs you hear from someone who obviously enjoys your company. It's genuine, free of any traces of insults.

"You're really a mean girl," he says and raises his hands as if surrendering in defeat. "What are you doing here?"

I point towards the approaching pink float with our beauty queen and the Philippine flag.

"You work for a beauty pageant?" he asks. I don't like his tone.

"Do we have a problem with that?" I fire back.

"Hey, hey," he moves back and shields his rimless glasses. "I mean, you don't strike me as someone who works for a beauty pageant."

"You're, well, too harsh," he adds.

I want to punch him in the face but the crowd picks up and someone bumps into me, again. The paper bag with the comics goes flying towards him, including me. He steadies me as the crowd zips past us in a blur. Our public relations manager Bianca passes by and sees me. Even from a distance, I can tell that I have disturbed her resting bitch face.

To the Makati crowd, we look like a couple who got caught up in the moment and embraced in the middle of a beauty contest parade. Oh god, how tacky! I see Bianca raise an eyebrow before moving on with the crowd. And before I could shake my head and say "No, no, it's not what you think", I feel something growing hard, very fast.

Quickly, I push myself away from this stranger. My entire face is a mixture of utmost irritation. He flashes his pearly whites before bending down to pick up the comics I had dropped. And just like the moment, he is gone before I could even say "fuck you" and slap his face.

I check my comics and one of my Archie Double Digests is missing. I see him again just before I board the van that would take us to the press conference venue. Holding my comic, he gives me a big wave before disappearing into one of the buildings.

To be continued...

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