throughthelookingglass
about
To be honest there is nothing much about me worth knowing. I live in an island, enjoys being a photographer at times and dance like no one else business. Thats all. I can't think what to write for now so it just stays like this. Welcome to the little life of mine and lets try not to get utterly bored, shall we?

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We're all mad here


Tuesday, September 13, 2011 @ 9/13/2011 08:53:00 PM

There is a co relation between sleeping and shitting.



"The harder you try, the lesser the yield"




Anyway, today's Economics paper was about bus travel. Makes me wonder about my love affair with buses.



Here how a normal bus experience goes for me:



After dilly dallying to about 3 mins remaining time for the bus arrival, I dash out frantically. Lots of waving, running and finally, panting I board on. The bus is literally packed with people. Behind me I see a couple PDAing, in front of me the bus smells funny like dry rot. I squeeze to the centre. I'm right below a corporate man with armpit sweat.



I pray hard that my hair don't smell. DING! One bustop after another, the bus driver hollered to the masses of people blocking the entrance. Manage to get a seat. DING. An old lady walk in with Tiger Balm smell. I gave up my seat to her. The bus jerk. I swayed dangerously. My earphones popped out. Some metrosexual guy board in. He looks pretty slick with expensive shoes and bug-eyed spectacles. I mentally picture him with a another guy with tight shorts and even tighter shirt. I sneaked up at him to see what he's doing on the Blackberry. Turns out he's googling "Praise our Lord" lyrics. Hmm so he's a religious gay.



The bus braked loudly. Not so merciful this time. I flew headfirst into the purple bar and pretended it didn't hurt. Some passengers dozing off at the back woke up with a start and the PDAing couple stop PDA and look sort of shock. They wore a we-didn't-know-we-are-in-a-bus look. The bus driver swore loudly in dialect. Bloody taxi swerve into bus lane.



DING! This time, a noisy pack entered. Two brawling kids is now right below me. Ha! Smell my armpit sweat now. Wait my armpits don't smell. The bus paused. Their tiny hands gripped on whatever was nearest to them. Apparently my legs. It was like they grabbed my flesh. Now it looked like I had undergone waxing on a specific spot. Ouch. Sudden shot of pain, eyes watering. Mother apologised to me. I was about to reply when cute guy board in. I quickly told her kids will be kids. Ya right. Serve me right for wearing a skirt.



Finally! My bustop! I dis tangled myself from the crowd. Hit my ankle on a black briefcase while doing so. Came out with my braided hair standing in all directions. Wonder why I bothered anyway.





And that was an almost normal experience for my SBS experience. Extreme ones involved a big moth entering a bus by mistake causing unnecessary massive movements.





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