An Afternoon With A Keysmith

Last Saturday, I found myself navigating the narrow streets of Pasay on my way to pick up some gear I needed. As I made the right turn that led to the store, I saw that the siomai vendor had already started making his rounds, and that he was flanked by a fishball vendor - a rare appearance in those parts. The image of a siomai and fishball feast as well as the subsequent growl in my gut quickly led me to screech the car to a halt by the side of the road.
After having feasted on my sweet fill of pork (at least I’ll assume it qualifies as pork in one form or another - the alternatives are pretty disgusting) and fishball goodness, I returned to the car, but lo and behold as I tried to start it, the key refused to turn in the ignition switch. I pushed, pulled, pleaded and prayed for the next 45 minutes, but it seemed like all was doomed.


I finally gave up and started walking in search for a car shop or a keysmith. I chanced upon a couple of tricycle drivers, Rudy and Roland, who told me they could help. They helped me locate Kuya Reinze, a keysmith who plied his trade on the side of the road. A quick glance by his trained eye told him that the lock/ignition switch/key receptacle was the problem, as well as a key well worn down by years of use.
So off we trooped from the car to his little stall, lock in one hand and hope in the other.

Pretty much the same scenario took place over by that small wooden table - pushing, pulling, and praying. This time, it was a bit different though, Kuya Reinze had purpose. Quite a few P’s, yes. The master keysmith knew what he was doing, and before long had cracked open the lock and had fashioned me a new key, all done by hand. And soon enough I took off, a new key happily coaxing the engine to life and three new acquaintances, waving me farewell.
What struck me as uncommon in this whole scenario was that after all was said and done, after I had paid Kuya Reinze for his services, I turned to the Rudy and Roland, the two other chaps who had hung around with us this whole time. I thanked them profusely for their help and pressed some bills into their hands, but it was as if they were hesitant to accept it. Of course I insisted, but I was glad to see them have helped me without asking for anything. Oh wait, except maybe for a cigarette.
The series of events that happened that day took away a bit of my cynicism towards strangers. We normally pass helpful strangers off - especially those unfortunate enough to be economically challenged - as mere opportunists, only in it for a quick buck. We’ve all heard our fair share of scam tales, and that unfortunately has made us wary of contact with people whom we don’t know. Not that these stories aren’t true, but in my personal experience, being too wary or distant from everyone around me has sometimes deprived me of potentially enriching experiences with my fellow man. It’s an perpetual inner struggle for me, wanting to trust someone but having that little voice in my head go screaming into my conscience that I’m a fool, and it’s on days like this that I experience one of life’s simple joys, when another little voice in my head kicks that first little voice in his frumpy behind and says, ‘See, I was right.”