Multiple Choice

 

Something happened to our car.  It was making an increasingly loud ‘wooing’ sound as we pulled into the parking lot of Walter Mart yesterday.  Yes I do mean Wal-TER Mart.  In the Philippines that’s the name of an ever-enlarging chain of Malls capitalizing on the Wal-Mart name which is known pretty much all over the inhabited world.

I know as much about automobiles as I do about breeding gophers but I had a dim memory of my mechanic friend John Wightman telling me when I was about 19 years old that ‘wooing’ sounds usually had something to do with overheating.  Likely the radiator was boiling, or at least what’s inside the radiator — which in this country is just plain water.

So I shut the car down, the ‘wooing’ subsided, I looked under the hood without managing to touch or even see anything and went inside to make our purchases, my wife and I.  Worried.   I bought one of those big 6000 milliliter plastic jugs of drinking water – one with a handle around the top for easy pouring — my wife bought the items on her grocery list and we returned to the car, started the engine running and opened the hood.

I had the good sense to use an old rag we found in the trunk/boot to use while unscrewing the radiator cap which, as is always the case when these ‘wooing’ problems occur, blows off in a great geyser of boiling water and steam.  You’ve been there, right?  The trick is not to get scalded or struck with the rad cap which has taken on the guise of a misshapen ballistic missile.  I believe ‘quick on one’s feet’ is the applicable term.

The radiator filled with the water, we quickly drove the eight kilometers home by which time the ‘wooing’ sound was back with a vengeance and water was pouring out of somewhere and puddling beneath the engine in the carport.  The temperature gauge was full-on red and there was little doubt that the next time the car went anywhere it would be to Mario’s place.  Our Mechanic.  Close by.

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Now here’s the point of this whole thing.  Mario checked under the hood and found that something had burned out and would have to be replaced.  We’re talking an 11 year old vehicle here.  In order to replace the part that was frizzed I had multiple choices.  I could purchase a brand new, factory made gizmo from Japan at 10-thousand pesos which would be bullet-proof and nationwide; I could buy a brand new factory produced clone made in China for 4,000 pesos — slippage; I could buy one that “Mario knew where he could get it” for 1500 pesos which had obviously fallen off the back of a truck — or I could get a rebuilt job for 600 pesos that would have to be ‘slightly altered’ to fit my Toyota.    

I picked number three, the no-questions asked choice.  The price was right — Bloomis, Mario’s go-get-it man — knew where to find the part and my wife and I hopped in one of our tricycle taxi’s and went home; Mario would deliver the car when it was finished which turned out to be a shade over three hours.  I hesitate to say such quick service or price variety would have been available in many Western Countries but this is the “Developing World” and things just ain’t the same, dude.

I can’t really speak for Paraguay or the Central African Republic but in my corner of the “Developing World” one is literally besieged with choices.  At least half, maybe more, are illegal but the thing is … nobody cares.  Not at my level anyway.  Maybe Toyota’s Vice-President in charge of Manufacturing up in Aichi, Japan would look askance at my dealings with Mario but nobody even bothers here.  That’s how business is done in the Philippines.

Take computers.  The unit is assembled in the Philippines with parts from Japan via Indonesia.  The machine comes bare bones to the computer store and you tell them what you want.  Windows is usually installed (if you aren’t buying a Mac) and it is not licensed.  When you go on line and Microsoft sniffs you out and wants to send updates you ignore them until such time as you have to go back to the computer store and get Windows newest version installed – or rather a copy of the newest version.

If you want any of a variety of programs, the computer store has them all on CD’s – all unlicensed – but again, nobody cares.  It’s open and shut piracy.  Other than large businesses and the occasional honest individual, almost everyone owns pirated product.  I confess to breaking down and buying a legit copy of Windows.  I had reasons — they weren’t necessarily wrought of an impeccable nature — I mean why try to be a sheep in a field of goats — I just wanted the licensed product because I spend a lot of time on my machine and felt the updates were neccesary.

Anyway, regarding piracy … the general rule to follow is:  if you are using pirated equipment, know somebody — a geek pal who works at a computer store.  And be sure to tip generously.  Ghastly isn’t it?  The Philippine government even run these television commercials with Arnold Schwarzenegger and Jackie Chan damning the souls of computer pirates.  Lip service, nothing more.

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In Hong Kong, the problem is less daunting to the offshore manufacturer.  It has what is known as the Independent Commission Against Corruption (ICAC) and although their main purpose seems to be watching for illegal pig carcasses smuggled in from China proper, they keep an eye open for piracy as well.  Should such an agency ever find a home in the Philippines, the members of the Commission would have bulging pockets.  Can you spell graft?

The problem is not endemic to the Philippines alone.  Most “Developing Countries” are the same.  How else are the people going to keep up with the brilliant glow of modernicity they see in their TV commercials that come in with sporting events such as straight-line hook ups to the World Cup or the World Series or a variety of other television fare? 

I don’t blame them.  They want that carrot dangling in front of their nose.  I, as a Westerner, do not condone their practices, only sympathize; I spent most of my life in “lands of plenty” and my years in this impoverished country have stood me in good stead to look the other way, perhaps even indulge.

I paid Mario about 35 US dollars (including labour) for a job that would have cost in the neighborhood of $200 in San Francisco.  I checked.  Mario doesn’t come bouncing out with a worksheet on a clipboard, a pen and a ticket for a cup of coffee in the lounge while the problem is assessed.  But he smiles a lot, he’s super-fast and he’s super cheap and he does a good job.

Small price to pay for cleaning the grease off my automobile’s steering wheel.   

Tags: Philippines, Piracy