On my way to Philos's birthday dinner last Friday, I came to a stop at a traffic light along Ortigas Avenue. As luck would have it, I was right beside an open manhole.

I should have just ignored it. Open manholes aren't uncommon around here--thieves regularly steal manhole covers and sell them as scrap metal. But I suddenly remembered a funny true story. A few years ago, someone I know fell into one such hole while wading through a flooded Binondo street on a dark rainy night. (He didn't die, so it's okay to laugh at him.)

I decided to blog about that, so I rolled down the window and took a picture. That turned out to be a bad move. Apparently, this particular manhole is right above the sewers. And I'm sure you know what's in the sewers. I desperately tried to close the window, but it was too late. Within seconds, my car was filled with the stench of rotting poop straight from Satan's concrete anus, and my Friday evening was off to a stinky start.

In full panic mode, I opened the passenger side window in an attempt to let the smell out. That turned out to be yet another bad move. The old SUV beside me quickly pumped its sooty exhaust fumes straight in. Again, the stupid power window wouldn't close fast enough.

By now, I was gagging and gasping while my poor nostrils were being assaulted by both natural and artificial stink gases. Where are those sampaguita-selling street urchins when you need them?

In the end, I buried my face in my left armpit and sniffed the deodorant until the traffic light turned green. I think I got a little high from that, but at least I didn't pass out. Yay.