Just as long as we're not squished together inside a bus that smells like a mixture of morning breath and sweaty gym socks... with peanuts.
I'm fully aware that I have to start embracing the whole idea of being human sandwiches everyday for the rest of my college days, but there's something so repelling about touching skin that's not your skin. Skin that you don't even know if is washed. Skin that secretes salty sweat. Unsavory.
Being a claustrophobic individual makes all of this harder than it should be. I'm the type of person who considers my personal bubble as something sacred. And you shall not breathe nor move the air inside my bubble, you should not touch anything that's inside my bubble, nor should you reach in my personal bubble. That's a line you wouldn't wanna cross, buddy, especially during nature's monthly visit or I will throw you over the border of Mexico with my bare hands.
Now that that's cleared (English is so weird I just used "that" twice contiguously and it still made sense), I just wanna point out the little things that cause me the biggest pain on public transport.
First of all, you get free lap dances whether you like it or not. The problem with getting from point A to point B in a crowded, not to mention moving bus, is that nobody cares what they're doing just as long as they get to point B. They don't care if they accidentally or purposely rub their goodies on your butt or your lap or whatever part of your body happens to be exposed to this tragic moment of your commuting life. If it isn't obvious yet, yes, I'm talking about middle-aged men who think girls don't notice it when they grab the opportunity to grind their manhood on what our momma gave us.
It's creepy. It's wrong. And I can live my whole life without having to know what your hoo-ha feels like, thank you very much.
Be prepared with the various smells that trail behind people who leave, by the way. Sometimes it's pleasant, but for the most part, it's agonizing to my nose. If my nose could speak, it would just be saying a chain of swear words. The smell of other people's clothes rubbing on my clothes isn't so appetizing.
It isn't just the passengers' interesting variety of scents, but it's the smell of the bus itself. There's a funky scent in the air that just makes my tummy turn. Like I said, a mixture of saliva, peanuts and sweaty gym socks. Don't ask how I came to this conclusion because I smell everything. Which is another downside of dealing with public transportation everyday.
Moving on, there are just people you come across with everyday who don't give a shit. Whenever I'm on public transport, I try not to piss anyone off while making myself as comfortable as possible, but some people are just downright asking for it. Yes, I'm referring to you sassy old women who think they can get away with everything just because they're old! I don't care if you're as old as my mom, or my aunt, or hell, my grandmother. Whatever your age is, my rules are simple: if you're gonna act like a bitch, I'm gonna treat you like a bitch. Be nice or I'll fucking slap the dentures out of you.
These women literally just use their huge asses to throw people out of their way. Guess we already know one of the advantages of being old.
Another thing, being slapped by backpacks first thing in the morning isn't the best way to start a hormonal teenager's day. Namely, mine. Oh, you're backpack is so cool! Look at that, it's Jansport! I conveniently noticed because you just literally rubbed it on my face. Don't be fooled by those flowery backpacks, they might look harmless but they're the worst kind of public transport juggernauts. They're capable of mass destruction. Who knows what they have in there? A bowling bowl? Their dad's golf trophy? A human arm?
If you're taller than the average Filipino and are towering over me, you better not breathe down my neck, my arm, my face. Basically, just don't breathe on me. Don't breathe my air 'cause I certainly don't wanna breathe yours. I don't wanna inhale your carbon dioxide, dude. We're not that intimate.
And before I got to experience going on public buses on a daily basis, I refused to believe chivalry is dead. But I stand corrected.
I literally stand corrected 'cause there aren't any more available seats and I'm just watching this muscular dude in his mid-20's who look more than capable of standing for one whole hour while fighting inertia, sit there and watch as the women struggle for balance.
I'm not being sexist here or whatever 'cause guys have the right to sit down too and they probably came from a long way, but it's so rare for guys to offer a seat to a lady who might be biting down the agony of cramps from menstruation.
And when I do see a guy or have a guy offer his seat to me, I just wanna grab him by the shoulders, look him in the eye and whisper "God bless your kind soul." It really means a lot. Honestly. It's a big deal. Incredibly. Wow. Just. I.
I think I basically covered everything about the cons of dealing with the different kinds of douchebags you'll meet on public transport. Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of good people too, the ones like me suffering from their ignorance.
Dear person-who's-always-always-on-public-transport,
Things will get better... the moment you get off the bus stop.
Now I just have to sound like I'm convincing you more than I'm convincing myself.
Just please, be nice. Do everyone a favor and don't be a douchebag. Also, do everyone a favor and throw the nearest douchebag into the busy traffic of Taft.... haha, just kidding.
Or am I???????!?!??!?
No comments:
Post a Comment