Waste of Time

Today I encountered a character I know well from several years of mock trial, UHS, and humanities classes at ASU: the pointless arguer.  He sat behind the desk at a lending company in Dulag, a small town about an hour away from Tacloban, and fortunately he spoke excellent English so my poor translators were spared the experience of talking to him.  I could tell almost immediately that he wasn’t going to cooperate with our survey.  The problem was that he worked for one of the most prominent informal lenders in town, Mr. Li, and continuously dropped hints that he might let us talk to his boss.  Several times I tried to excuse myself politely.  Thank you for your time, I’d say, but I’ll just be leaving now.  Wait!, he’d say.  I’m about to call Mr. Li.  Just a few more questions…

A street in Dulag

Thirty minutes ended up disappearing into that black hole of a human.  As we walked away my translator informed me that she had gone to high school with the guy.  Everyone had hated him, she said, particularly the teachers.    

The church in Dulag

In case you're wondering why confetti and balloons are exploding out of your computer, it's because this is my 300th post!  Thanks, everyone, for reading.