With Infinite Money I Can Do Everything

The Manila heat was a physical entity. It pressed down on the cracked asphalt of EDSA, shimmered in waves above the unmoving sea of vehicles, and seeped through the weak air conditioning of Juancho "Jun-Jun" Dela Cruz's slightly-used, ten-year-old sedan. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, humming an off-key tune. Outside, the symphony of the city played its usual midday concert: a thousand impatient horns blaring, jeepney barkers shouting destinations, vendors weaving between cars hawking mani, yosi, and lukewarm water.

Jun-Jun wasn't particularly bothered by the heat. He was bothered by the stasis. He was supposed to meet his best friend, Miguel "Migs" Santos, for halo-halo at their favorite spot in Cubao an hour ago. Migs was likely nursing his third glass by now, sending Jun-Jun increasingly passive-aggressive texts.

"Okay, tama na (enough is enough)," Jun-Jun muttered, checking his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked aggressively average: plain white t-shirt, faded jeans, hair slightly unruly. Nothing about him screamed 'infinite wealth'. That was precisely how he liked it. His wealth wasn't tied to stocks, bonds, or businesses. It came from a ridiculously ornate, perpetually full kamagong wood chest he'd inherited from a great-great-grand-uncle thrice removed, rumored to have made a deal with a diwata (nature spirit) living in a Balete tree that yielded... well, endless cash. The logistics were fuzzy, but the result was undeniable: Jun-Jun could not run out of money. Ever.

He sighed, looking at the gridlock. Cars, jeepneys, buses, motorcycles – packed tighter than sardines in a can. "Right. Conventional methods have failed."

He rolled down his window, ignoring the immediate blast of humid, exhaust-filled air. He leaned out and yelled at the jeepney driver beside him, whose vehicle proudly proclaimed "Katas ng Saudi" (Fruit of Saudi Labor) on its mudflaps.

"Boss! Magkano biyahe mo isang araw?" (Boss! How much do you make in a day?)

The driver, a grizzled man with a towel draped around his neck, squinted at Jun-Jun. "Depende, boss. Mga tres mil, kung sipagin." (Depends, boss. Around three thousand, if I work hard.)

Jun-Jun reached into the oversized, worn leather backpack sitting on the passenger seat. It looked like something a college student would carry, but it functioned as his mobile treasury. He pulled out a thick wad of crisp one-thousand-peso bills, still banded from the bank. He peeled off ten.

"Here's ten thousand pesos," Jun-Jun said casually, extending the bills. "Just pull over to the side, kahit saan (anywhere), and take the rest of the day off. Tell your passengers free ride today, courtesy of... traffic."

The driver stared at the money, then at Jun-Jun, then back at the money. His passengers craned their necks, murmuring. "Seryoso ka, boss?" (Are you serious, boss?)

"Dead serious," Jun-Jun grinned. "Go on. Enjoy. Maybe get yourself a halo-halo."

The driver's eyes widened. He snatched the money, disbelief warring with delight on his face. "Wow! Salamat, boss! Okay! Mga pasahero, baba na tayo! Libreng araw!" (Wow! Thanks, boss! Okay! Passengers, let's get off! Free day!)

A small cheer erupted from the jeepney as passengers quickly disembarked, looking utterly bewildered but happy. The driver maneuvered his vehicle awkwardly towards the narrow shoulder, creating a small, temporary gap.

Jun-Jun beamed. Progress! He turned his attention to the sedan in front of him. He honked lightly. A woman with impeccably styled hair rolled down her window, looking annoyed.

"Yes?"

"Hi Ma'am! Beautiful car!" Jun-Jun started charmingly. "Look, I'm really late for a very important halo-halo meeting. How much would it take for you to just... park somewhere else? Anywhere else? For, say, the next hour?"

The woman scoffed. "Are you insane? This is EDSA!"

Jun-Jun sighed dramatically. "Is fifty thousand pesos insane?" He held up another wad, fanning it slightly.

The woman's jaw dropped. She looked around, as if expecting cameras. "Is this a prank show?"

"No, Ma'am. Just a man desperate for crushed ice, sweet beans, and leche flan. Fifty K. Deal?"

She hesitated for only a second. "Make it sixty, and you have a deal."

"Sold!" Jun-Jun peeled off sixty thousand pesos and handed them over. The woman grabbed the cash, her eyes wide. With surprising speed, she executed a daring three-point turn (earning furious honks from behind) and sped off down a side street.

Jun-Jun repeated the process. A UV Express van? Twenty thousand for the driver, plus five hundred pesos for each of the bewildered passengers to find other rides. A motorcycle weaving through? Ten thousand just to stop weaving near him and maybe clear a path ahead. The absurdity grew with each transaction. He wasn't just spending money; he was conducting chaos.

Drivers behind him started honking furiously, not understanding why cars ahead were suddenly pulling over or making erratic maneuvers. People were getting out of their vehicles, craning their necks, pointing. A small crowd was gathering on the sidewalk, phones out, recording. The phrase "Nabaliw na yata!" (He must have gone crazy!) floated through the air.

Suddenly, a stern figure in a blue uniform approached Jun-Jun's car. A traffic enforcer, his face grim.

"Sir! What is going on here? You're causing a major disturbance!" the enforcer, whose name tag read "P. Santos" (no relation to Migs, Jun-Jun hoped), demanded.

Jun-Jun gave him his most innocent smile. "Officer Santos! Just trying to... expedite my commute. Very important meeting, you see."

"Expedite? Sir, you're bribing people to block traffic!"

"Not bribing, Officer," Jun-Jun corrected gently. "Compensating them for their inconvenience and time. See? Economics." He gestured vaguely.

The enforcer pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sir, license and registration. And step out of the vehicle."

Jun-Jun sighed. This was slowing him down. "Look, Officer P. Santos. I appreciate you doing your job. Diligence, very important. How about this?" He reached into his backpack again. This time, he pulled out a significantly thicker bundle. "Let's call this... a donation. To the Traffic Enforcers' Benevolent Fund. Or maybe just your personal 'I-had-a-really-weird-day-on-EDSA' fund. Say... three hundred thousand pesos?"

Officer Santos stared at the money as if it were an alien artifact. He swallowed hard. His stern expression flickered. "Sir... that's... that's bribery of a public official."

"Potato, potahto," Jun-Jun waved dismissively. "Think of it as hazard pay. Or, better yet," his eyes lit up with a new, even more ridiculous idea, "consider yourself hired! For the next hour, you're my official Traffic Expediter. Your mission: clear a path for this car" - he patted his humble sedan - "to Cubao. Bonus if you use the megaphone."

Officer Santos looked from the money to Jun-Jun, then back to the chaotic scene Jun-Jun had created. Horns were still blaring. People were shouting. A vendor was trying to sell Jun-Jun roasted peanuts through the window.

"You... you want to hire me? To clear traffic? For you?"

"Exactly! Think of the efficiency! Let's say... five hundred thousand pesos for the hour? Plus the initial three hundred thousand as a signing bonus?" Jun-Jun asked, holding out the cash bundles.

Officer Santos looked like his brain was about to short-circuit. He opened his mouth, closed it, then looked up at the merciless sun. He thought of his mortgage, his kids' tuition, the leak in his roof.

"...Do I get to keep my job?" he asked weakly.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it! First bridge: halo-halo!" Jun-Jun declared cheerfully.

Before Officer Santos could fully process the ethical tightrope he was about to tap-dance on, Jun-Jun spotted something even better. A tow truck, stuck a few cars behind him.

"Officer! New plan! Even better!" Jun-Jun yelled, already waving frantically at the tow truck driver. "Forget clearing the path! We'll go over it!"

He scrambled out of his car, leaving the door open, and jogged towards the tow truck, backpack bouncing. Officer Santos watched, dumbfounded, holding nearly a million pesos in his hands, as Jun-Jun began negotiating with the bewildered tow truck driver.

"Boss! How much to tow my car," Jun-Jun pointed back at his sedan, "with me inside it, maybe lifted slightly, just weaving through this mess? Let's start the bidding at one hundred thousand!"

The tow truck driver blinked. "Tow... with you inside? Sir, bawal 'yan!" (Sir, that's illegal!)

"Laws are just strong suggestions when you're late for dessert!" Jun-Jun countered enthusiastically, already pulling out more cash. "Two hundred thousand!"

Migs' phone buzzed again in Jun-Jun's pocket. He ignored it. The halo-halo could wait a few more minutes. He was having far too much fun spending his way through the impossible heart of Manila traffic. The chaos was beautiful, in its own expensive way. He just needed to figure out the optimal angle for the tow hook. Maybe he should buy the tow truck outright? Decisions, decisions.