A highschooler, obviously gay, walks into the town’s only record bar. “How much?” he motions to a 45. The saleslady tells him the price.
“Ocho pesos?” he shrieks, aghast, perhaps, at the huge dent “My Sharona” would make on his 50-centavo a day allowance. Nevertheless, he reluctantly forks over his hard-earned moolah and skips happily away from the record bar and into the annals of (Sorsogon) history.
As you might have guessed, this happened decades ago, in the age of vinyl and “My Sharona.” Of Guevarra Pension House and Disco, too. And Lanie’s Commercial, Pakewela-Kwela sa DZMS and Search for Superwheel Singing Star. To this day, though, there are still those who shamelessly call gays “ocho pesos.”
The highschooler certainly made his/her mark.