With Infinite Money I Can Do Everything

Mang Cesar, the tow truck driver, blinked sweat out of his eyes, staring at the bundle of cash Jun-Jun was waving under his nose. Two hundred thousand pesos. To tow a car with the owner inside? Through EDSA gridlock? It wasn't just bawal (illegal); it sounded like a one-way ticket to a viral internet fail video, possibly ending with vehicular catastrophe and certain license revocation.

"Sir," Mang Cesar began, his voice raspy from shouting over engine noise all day, "Two hundred thousand is... malaki (big). Very big. But delikado po talaga. My truck, your car, ikaw (you)... maybe lahat tayo (all of us)... magiging lugaw sa daan." (We'll all become porridge on the road.)

Jun-Jun waved a dismissive hand. "Details, details! Think of it as... extreme commuting. An adventure! Besides," he leaned in conspiratorially, "what if I make it three hundred thousand? And I'll sign a waiver! Any damage, any fines, any public humiliation – all on me!" He already had a pen out, gesturing towards a greasy napkin on Mang Cesar's dashboard.

Behind them, Officer P. Santos was having a minor existential crisis. He clutched the thick wads of cash Jun-Jun had pressed upon him – ₱800,000 in total now, if his trembling fingers counted right. It felt heavier than lead, buzzing with moral ambiguity. This was more than his annual salary. Several years' salary, in fact. He should be arresting this lunatic. He should be restoring order. Instead, he was standing here, sweating profusely, effectively bribed into silence, watching the crazy man try to convince a tow truck driver to attempt vehicular suicide.

"Sir!" Officer Santos finally squeaked, stepping forward hesitantly. "Per MMDA Regulation Section 7, paragraph B, item 4... towing a vehicle with passengers inside is strictly prohibited! Especially... especially when using it as a mode of personal transportation through traffic!" He sounded less like an enforcer and more like someone reciting trivia while being held at gunpoint by a clown.

Jun-Jun turned, beaming at the officer. "Officer Santos! Excellent! Glad to have you contributing! See, Mang Cesar? The officer knows the rules! Which is why," Jun-Jun winked, "we need to be creative! And well-compensated!" He turned back to Mang Cesar. "Okay, final offer. Five hundred thousand pesos! Half a million! Just hook me up, lift me maybe... one foot off the ground? And gently nudge your way through. Like a metal T-Rex wading through a river of cars. What do you say?"

Mang Cesar looked at the half-million pesos Jun-Jun was now holding out. He looked at his battered tow truck, then at the seemingly endless traffic. He thought about his upcoming retirement, the little beach hut he dreamed of in Batangas. He glanced at Officer Santos, who seemed to be actively avoiding eye contact, suddenly fascinated by a crack in the pavement.

The crowd on the sidewalk had swelled. Phones were held high, recording. A collective gasp went up as Jun-Jun presented the new offer. Shouts of "Kunin mo na!" (Take it already!) and "Baliw talaga!" (Really crazy!) mixed with the incessant honking.

"Five hundred..." Mang Cesar whispered, licking his lips. "Okay, sir. Okay. But you sign waiver. Very clear waiver. And if we hit anything..."

"I'll buy it!" Jun-Jun declared happily. "Hit a tricycle? I'll buy the driver a new one! Scratch a bus? Minor repaint, pocket change! Accidentally demolish that billboard?" He pointed to a giant advertisement for skin whitening soap. "I'll rent the space for a year and put up a picture of my cat!"

Just as Mang Cesar, with a sigh that seemed to surrender his soul, reached for the money, a new sound cut through the chaos. The distinct whup-whup-whup of a helicopter. But it wasn't the distant police or military kind. This one was closer, lower, and bore the bright logo of a major news network. A cameraman was visible, leaning out, pointing a large lens directly at Jun-Jun, Mang Cesar, and the bewildered Officer Santos.

"Ah, the media," Jun-Jun noted, unfazed. "Excellent! Maybe they can give us some aerial traffic guidance."

Officer Santos went pale. Getting caught accepting bribe money was bad. Getting caught on national television seemingly facilitating a rich lunatic's attempt to be towed inside his car through EDSA? That was career-ending, life-ruining territory.

"Sir! No! We cannot proceed!" Officer Santos hissed, finally finding a shred of authority fueled by pure panic. He shoved the money back towards Jun-Jun. "Take this back! This is madness! Mang Cesar, ibaba mo ang hook!" (Lower the hook!)

Mang Cesar, seeing the news helicopter and the officer's sudden surge of panicked righteousness, immediately started backpedaling. "Yes, sir! Tama si officer! (The officer is right!) Too dangerous! Too crazy! Sorry, boss!" He quickly retracted the heavy tow hook mechanism, looking relieved to have dodged a bullet, even if it was a P500,000 bullet.

Jun-Jun looked momentarily disappointed. "Hmm. Shame. That would have been a great story." He stuffed the rejected bribe money carelessly back into his backpack, alongside the bundles meant for Mang Cesar. "Okay, plan B then."

His eyes scanned the vicinity, past the unmoving cars, the sweating vendors, the gawking crowd. He spotted it about three vehicles ahead – a large, slightly battered six-wheeler delivery truck. The side panel advertised "Panaderia de Manila - Fresh Pandesal Daily!" The back doors were slightly ajar, revealing racks upon racks of fragrant, golden-brown pandesal (Filipino bread rolls).

A new, brilliant idea sparked in Jun-Jun's eyes.

He patted Officer Santos on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Officer. Your day is about to get much weirder, but possibly less illegal. Keep the initial P300k, consider it payment for... emotional distress." Before the officer could react, Jun-Jun was jogging towards the bread truck, weaving through the small gaps between vehicles.

He reached the driver's side and tapped on the window. A young man, looking bored and chewing gum, rolled it down.

"Yes, boss?"

"Good afternoon!" Jun-Jun beamed. "Excellent looking truck! And that pandesal smells fantastic!"

The driver eyed him warily. "Uh, thanks?"

"Quick question," Jun-Jun said, leaning in. "How much for the truck?"

The driver choked on his gum. "Ano, boss? (What, boss?) The truck?"

"Yes! The truck! And the bread! All of it!" Jun-Jun clarified. "I need to purchase this vehicle and its entire cargo immediately. Name your price. Let's start at, say, two million pesos for the truck and maybe... five hundred thousand for the bread? Is that fair? I'm not really up on current pandesal market rates."

The driver stared, dumbfounded. He looked back at his cargo, then at Jun-Jun. "Two... point five... million? Pesos? For this old truck and... bread?"

"Is that too low?" Jun-Jun asked, looking concerned. "Okay, three million total! Final offer!" He already had his backpack open, revealing stacks of cash that made the driver's eyes bulge.

"You... you're serious?" the driver stammered.

"As serious as a halo-halo craving!" Jun-Jun confirmed. He started pulling out bundles. "We'll need to do the paperwork later, obviously, but consider it sold! Now, hop out! And maybe tell your boss... you had a very, very good delivery day."

The driver, looking completely shell-shocked, fumbled with the door handle and practically fell out onto the pavement. Jun-Jun handed him brick after brick of cash, piling it into the driver's trembling arms.

"Okay! Thank you!" Jun-Jun said cheerfully, hopping into the driver's seat of the bread truck. The engine rumbled comfortably. The smell of warm bread was intoxicating.

He leaned out the window. "Officer Santos!" he yelled back towards the still-paralyzed enforcer. "New plan! Operation Pandesal Freedom!"

He then turned his attention to the back of the truck. He climbed out of the driver's seat and flung open the rear cargo doors completely. Racks upon racks of fresh pandesal stood revealed to the stunned onlookers and frustrated drivers.

Jun-Jun grabbed a megaphone that was conveniently clipped to the truck's dashboard (likely used for bakery promotions). He switched it on, the sudden screech causing people to jump.

"ATTENTION, EDSA COMMUTERS!" his amplified voice boomed, echoing between the buildings. "GOOD NEWS! FREE PANDESAL FOR EVERYONE!"

He started grabbing bags of bread rolls. "FEELING HUNGRY? FRUSTRATED? NEED A SNACK? COME GET YOUR FREE BREAD! JUST PLEASE, TRY TO MAKE A LITTLE PATH FOR THE BREAD TRUCK WHILE YOU'RE AT IT! I'M LATE FOR DESSERT!"

He began tossing bags of pandesal into the surrounding cars and towards the crowd on the sidewalk. Chaos erupted, but this time, it was a different kind – a frantic, delighted chaos as people scrambled for the free bread. Drivers abandoned their cars, passengers leaned out windows, sidewalk vendors jostled with pedestrians, all eager for an unexpected, delicious treat.

Jun-Jun laughed, tossing bread rolls with abandon. The news helicopter zoomed in. Officer Santos facepalmed, the rejected bribe money still lying near his feet on the hot asphalt. Somewhere in Cubao, Migs probably just ordered his fourth halo-halo, muttering darkly about unreliable friends. Jun-Jun didn't care. He had a bread truck, thousands of pandesal, and a captive, hungry audience. Maybe, just maybe, this plan would work.