(Written after the 34th Milo Marathon event pertaining to how the organizers handled the baggage counter)
Like vulture we were picking over the piled up pieces of carcasses strewn all over for any recognizable pieces of evidence of our beloved whom we feared were among those who were left exposed to the elements after their apparent massacre.
I was kind of praying I won’t find any tell tale sign that will confirm what I feared, even thought dehydrated I am, profusely perspiring and bathing under the heat of the sun for almost an hour and a half; not to mentioned the 10 kilometers distance I crossed to get to the crime scene, there was nothing on my mind except to go home.
There were hundreds of us helpless victim milling around. I wanted to shout in anger but there were already others who beat me to it. Besides, I am really tired. I can hardly utter a curse. I saw someone cried already. Perhaps in frustration, perhaps in anger another thing we share beside our perspiration as we brushed into each other when wave of people swept us. I heard from someone that those hapless cadavers might have been looted as there weren’t anyone guarding them. The police eventually came in throve but they were just looking dazed. One of them gave an exasperated remark, “how could they allow this desecration to happen”.
I walked over to another area were those that had escaped the sordid fate of being massacred out in the open. People were in pandemonium. Pushing, shoving and shouting fiercely in desperate attempt to get attention. They were holding high their piece of paper that will identify them as claimant. The place I came to call mortuary was in state of siege from the green donning mob. At that point I was not anymore hopeful that I would be reunited with whatever remains of my beloved. Then suddenly I saw a glimmer of hope when I got a glimpse of my beloved. I scrambled to get closer while keeping my eyes on my quarry. It was a positive ID. I raised my piece of identification reference. I even pleaded with the one closest to it. I spew whatever words that would best describe the physical features of my beloved. Finally he relented and after checking the stub attached to my beloved bag and compare it with my race bib number he gave my bag to me. Thus ended my toils to get my bag back from the baggage counter from hell at the 34th Milo Marathon this morning. How could the organizers of the event allow this despicable melee to stain the prestigious event, I can only hazard a guess. It’s all about money. As soon as they got it, they have forgotten the people who gave it and ran a ton to squeeze it out of their pockets.