Everyone in the Philippines is armed. Every store, factory, warehouse, restaurant, and pet shop has a uniformed guard out front. Actually, I haven't been to the pet store yet, as I don't want to see what I am probably eating. Each guard is strapping either a crappy looking wheelgun or a well worn 12 gauge pistol grip pump gun on a sling. I take that back. Not all the guards carry a gun. But they do all have a holster, even if it is empty. And six bullets snugged each into a little leather loop on his belt, cowboy style. Even the guys without pistols carry the six bullets. Perhaps, in the event of a large gun battle, they anticipate a fellow guard's need for spare ammo? My favorite is the boatyard guard who only has four of his six bullets. Maybe he misplaced them? Loaned them out to a friend in need? Did he already use two of those things on somebody today? Whatever the reason, I straighten up around that guy.
The guards come in two flavors: white uniform and blue uniform. All the uniforms are so similar in style as to be indistinguishable from one another; perhaps there is a central armed guard uniform distribution center somewhere in the city? The unis are pretty snappy, actually; fancy gold badges and buttons, a whistle, epaulets, name tags, embroidery. Just the right combination of flash and paramilitary style to let you know you're in the former sovereign state of Ferdi and Imelda.
There are several armed guards on rotation at the shipyard. There is always a guy at the gate, usually one wandering around the yard, and one on our boat, I guess to make sure that the yard workers don't make off with any of the big stuff. Normally they just stand around getting in the way, but several times as I have been struggling to get a large load of something up the two stories of stairs to get on the boat, or I am staggering around a corner with something unwieldy, the boat guard is the only one paying enough attention to lend a hand, as everyone else is engrossed in burning, cutting, grinding, sanding, or hammering something. Except that one kid who wanders the boat forlornly with the hame made broom, tackling the Sisyphean task of sweeping up, in face of the fact that forty dirty dudes with power tools and arc welders are just going to continue thrashing it day in and out.
Most of the yard guards are quite friendly and unimposing, all smiles and good cheer. I guess it is easy to be happy when your job is to stand around and watch as others around you sandblast, heft sheet steel, and haul the effluent dregs of assorted waste tanks in old paint buckets. There is one exception, a dour, serious looking fellow I have yet to see crack a smile. Whereas I will mug and goof off at some of the other hard cases around the boat until they smile, this guy, the armed guy, I leave to his own cranky devices. Instead of wearing a holster, he just sticks his revolver down the front of his pants, mobster style. Maybe the source of his unhappiness stems from his lack of a holster. Let’s face it, even the guys without guns have a holster.
So the other day I climbed down the scaffolding from the boat to find my crew in a tight little knot around one of the guards. Isn't it funny that boys up to no good, when gathered in a group, always appear the same, no matter their age, maturity level and surroundings? Since I like to be up to no good myself, I climbed down and stuck in my nose.
One of my friends was holding a chromed Smith and Wesson .357 revolver that the guard was trying to unload. Neat. Can I see? Wow. Feels light. And loose. Flimsy. Almost...shoddy. You did say this was a Smith, right? Yep, says so right there on the barrel. Wait a minute...Are those letters...routered? Because they are a little off. What about the stamp on the other side? Hmmm. Shows uneven fading and again, like the letters, something just isn't right. Let's take a closer look at this thing. Well, nothing fits snugly, the trigger is mushy, The wood grips are hand carved, the cylinder fit is sloppy, I'm pretty sure this is some sort of poorly chromed alloy instead of steel, and, oh my, the cross hatching on the end of the ejector rod, is that done by hand? Did you make this in your basement?
Turns out that bogus handguns are just as prevalent as pirated movies in this country. I told my Chuukese friend Madison that if he bought the gun 'for his cousin' as he was contemplating, I would pistol whip him with it. Not much of a threat considering that the thing would probably fall apart.
