It was around midnight; we were sitting outside one of the many cheap coffee shops that line the pavement in front of the employees’ entrance of Dole Philipines in Sta. Cruz Village more popularly called Tondo because of its resemblance to a district in Manila where it got its name.
I was having coffee with two of my high school classmates who just arrived from Cebu after their review and passing the recent Mechanical Engineering board exam. As what was proper, we talked about our plans for the future, the changes we’re undergoing, and the mounting responsibilities awaiting us. We all agreed that if there’s one thing that makes us happy despite the daunting tasks ahead it’s our youth along with our unwavering hope for what is ahead. Although we’re the same starry eyed high school students who used to roam the narrow streets of Tondo more than six years ago, nothing much has changed, only this time we are in a better position to realize those dreams.
With us were Dole employees who were having their midnight coffee break from work, some of them were even wearing their head caps and hair nets from work as if the time they will spend taking off these oddly-colored cotton caps used to keep their hair from contaminating the pineapples during canning will take away precious seconds from their 15- or 30-minute break. Some faces were familiar. Some of them have been former schoolmates in the nearby public high school where I studied. But most were like faces described by Fyodor Dostoyevsky in his turn-of-the-century novels: tired, blank, resigned, devoid of any emotion – not even sadness or grief.
After having sipped the remaining coffee from my cup, a heard a familiar voice calling my name. He was a batch mate. This I was certain of because only people close to me and studied at the same time with me call me ‘Fev’. I was surprised because although the voice was familiar, the impression of the origin of the voice was not. I was only able to confirm that the source of the voice was a former schoolmate after the light from the street lamp above us lighted his face. But he has drastically changed. He grew his hair to shoulder length, wore a pair of jeans more suited to a woman, and developed a more rounded and feminine body.
He was on his way home and interestingly, like other employees that time, was still wearing his head cap. I told him to join and have coffee with us. He hesitated at first but after some prodding and curious questions about his obvious transformation, he yielded and promised to stay for the next thirty minutes.
He is currently working for a job agency that partners with Dole Philippines by providing contractual workers that are paid less than regular company-hired employees and with limited benefits. He is being paid ‘pakyawan’; meaning, unlike regular employees that are paid by the hour, this former schoolmate and his team are paid based on the total work done for their shift.
According to him, a line, usually composed of around twenty employees, has to finish 100 bins of papayas that are initially steamed using a machine that softens the skin; then the fruits are peeled by the next team. Another group removes the seeds; still another does further peeling, then cutting these cleaned papayas into cubes for canning.
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Each of these bins contains 50 genetically modified papayas that can be as big as a six-month old baby. This line of work, my friend added, does not follow a strict 8-hour work day as their work productivity is gauged using the number of bins dispatched to the canning department. The team can work for less than eight hours a day if it finishes the 100 bins within that time, but this is something that seldom happens. During slow days, the work can take as long as 10 hours. He receives 500 pesos a day, without overtime pay.
His task is to remove the seeds, which according to him, is not at all that difficult and which he is really good at, except that it requires him to lift the papaya boats to remove all the seeds. This was the reason why he had to stop taking estrogen to complete his transformation, as the hormone made him less powerful in lifting big papaya boats.
He was joking about his work, but I knew his work was not a joking matter. It was like the odd-looking head caps they wear at work, during breaks, and even on their way home after a tiring shift – funny but dead serious.
He said he will be resigning by January of next year and find a better work prospect either in Davao or Cebu City.
After six years, we met again almost like strangers; parted ways, even more stranger to the kind of life each lives. This time the disconnect between us and the kind of work each does has become even greater. Although we know a snippet of each other’s, none of us will fully understand what he is or I am doing.
Going against the current 