Date: 6th January 2014
Wrong side of the bed was where I got up from this morning. I wonder why. I was feeling unusually grouchy the moment I opened my eyes. Weird for a cooling morning. One would normally wake up happy to a cool, drizzling weather. No, wait. This weather was too good for sleeping in, and the fact that I had to wake up for work means I could not extend my sleep.
So I woke up feeling extremely mixed. I planned to wake up at 5am to go for a morning run before setting off for work, since I don’t reach home early everyday. The cooling temperature had me trying hard to convince myself to go guilt-free when I decided that it wasn’t a good idea to get wet. Man, I hate how the two on my shoulders fight with each other. One was forgiving me for not fulfilling my responsibility, and the other was making me ashamed for another I-planned-to-but nonsense. I can’t tell which side is the one with the horns sitting on now.
Finally settled my prince by throwing him through the doors of my in-laws, and went on my way to work. Walking to the bus-stop, I saw with my powerful eyes, the departure of the bus I was supposed to be boarding. Heck, I whacked the grouchy one on my shoulder to a pulp and walked to a nearby coffeeshop for a coffee. Since I had 6 mins to kill before the arrival of the next bus, as advised by my trusty mobile app, I got myself a take-away, lit a cigarette and enjoyed my coffee while I puffed the sweet cancer 5 meters away from the bus-stop.
Smokers would know this: 6 mins are more than enough time to finish a stick of the cancer source. I am good in what every smoker is good at—estimating the time.
I was very sure that I had everything done within 6 minutes. In fact, I was confident that I had gotten the cigarette to burn to its butt in 4-5mins. I snubbed it out and threw the empty coffee container away at the same time. Let’s say I took 4 mins for everything; I should have 2 mins left before the next bus arrived.
Any idea how short 2 mins are? Do a fucking count from one to hundred, then walk aside for a fart and you’ll get 2 mins.
Truth was, I waited at the bus-stop for God-knows-how-long, reading 4 articles with my phone and not seeing the bus in sight. I’ll be damned if I was to spend my time waiting by counting to hundred and farting. I would have shit in my pants already.
Just the right thing for me this grouchy morning.
That made me woke up to my surroundings, and faulting almost every commuter I saw on my way to work. I’ve the top 3 types of commuters I hated from my trip today, and I’m sure the list will be gone from my death-note the moment my lunch coffee gush down my esophagus. Right before the nice guy come knocking on my door to send me my coffee….
#01. The Bus Hippo
I have nothing against big sized people, really. I swear by this statement. Obesity is a disease, and I should not be derogatory towards people with calorie or metabolism issues. In fact, I’ve grown some fats myself throughout the years, and I know how it sucks when you can’t get rid of them because you just don’t have the time to burn them off after setting time aside for couch and chips.
The bus this morning was unusually packed. Instead of having the luxury to choose the seats, I was forced to take the last remaining empty two-seater, simply because I prefer a little privacy while I stalk my wife’s Facebook and enjoy a little excitement over knowing the number of her admirers.
As the bus drove through town, the bus got increasingly packed. Commuters started to board the bus in droves, and I could see beautiful people occupying the empty seats around me. I would look up from time to time to check on the people boarding or alighting. People were sitting down and touching the thighs of those already seated by sitting besides them.
I welcome that. Everyone was paying for the same fare; there was no reason for anyone to be denied a seat if one was available. There was, however, just one problem.
I don’t know what are the exact dimensions of a 2 seater; I can’t find any information online. So let me do an estimation based on my own size. My butt is 14” wide, and when I sit, I have about 2 fingers’ space on each side. My two fingers are about 1.5” wide, so four will be 3”. I can safely conclude that the cushions are about 17” wide. For every 2-seaters, there is an estimated 1” gap between the 2 seats that are together. Let’s assume that the total width of a 2-seater is 17”+17”+1=35”.
17” per ass, that’s how the seats were built. Again, I’m not against big-sized people; the bus manufacturers and transport companies who ordered the specifications are. Get a commuter with a 30” ass and he or she will be paying 1 person’s fare for 2 seats. Sit the commuter down on the last empty seat with someone on the inside and you’ll get a squeezed human between the big one and the window.
So this guy with an ass of about 20” sat besides me earlier, and he was molesting me by touching my right thigh with his left haunch, rubbing my arms with his, and also attempting to “waist” me with his waist. How offending!
I’m a decent man. I’m married, and I’m faithful to my wife. I wasn’t going to enjoy the erotic attempts by him. So I had to avoid the scandal by squeezing myself nearer towards the window.
Being the nice guy that I always am, I maintained harmony by ignoring the guy’s advances and went on to read interesting articles with my phone, swallowing down the fact that an act of outrage of modesty was taking place on my body. Then, like God playing a trick on me, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel as it shone on me.
The bus started to get empty as passengers were alighting in the business district.
I looked up, and I saw hope. The whole of upper deck was less than 25% occupied by now, which based on my experience, the lower deck would be around 50%. Everyone was enjoying the space with 1 ass on every 2-seater. Just as I thought I would be inflating my personal space balloon, the elephant besides me, instead of finding himself a 2-seater from anywhere, moved in towards me and pressed his thigh against mine. Not only was he not budging, he moved in more.
Looking at all the empty seats around me while being squeezed, sort of brought me into Playboy Mansion with a chastity belt locked around my hip.
I then had this conclusion: Either this guy was fond of me, or he was too engrossed in his phone that he went all nonchalant to his surrounding. After I decided that I had enough, I got my ass off my seat and walked down to the lower deck to find myself a 3-seater. I just had to get away from guy who was taking advantage of my flesh and soul.
#02. The faulty phone owner
On the same bus, while I was busy pressing the window’s tits with my shoulder and doing a motor-boat on the window with my face, there was another guy behind me with another problem—a faulty handphone.
This guy’s phone rang, and man, it was loud. Even with my trusty Samsung earphones on, I could still hear his phone ringing. Damn good phone.
But there was another problem. He had difficulties hearing the party on the other end of his conversation, and it seemed that the other party was having problem hearing him. I knew that when I heard him repeating what he was saying in goddamn loud volume.
In the end, everyone on the bus could hear him telling the other end of the line how dry his wife was during sex, and he needed some lubricants to better his sex life. Apparently, he couldn’t decide on which brand of lubricant to go for.
Sorry buddy, I happened to know the language that you were conversing in. Don’t worry though; I wasn’t visualizing you having sex with your wife. I was too busy smooching with the window glass.
#03. The Extended Line Search Team
I served 2 years in the Singapore Army, and I acquired many skills that proved to be useful in my daily lives during my period of serving the nation. One of which is the Extended Line Search.
I remember during my Basic Military Training phase, a platoon mate of mine lost the washer of his rifle’s muzzle. We never knew why or how.
That’s right, the fucking washer.
The washer was apparently a big deal, because we were made to form an extended line to “comb” through the jungle to recover it. And should we failed to do so, we would be in for a good session of sex with the mud and having the weekends burnt in the hands of the commanders.
That extended line search was effective, as the washer was recovered in just 15 mins. So that was a valuable lesson I’ve learned that remains applicable till this day. I used that whenever I dropped a condom in the wild.
Back to my nasty morning. After eavesdropping on someone’s tele-conversation while having an erotic time cuddling and kissing the window with another guy rubbing my thigh (sounds like a threesome), I finally alighted at the bus-stop near my work place. Just, finally.
Walking towards my office at my usual pace, I walked onto a path that was just wide enough for two average-sized human to walk side by side. Again, I’m not discriminating; the society is.
I had to slow my pace down to a strolling speed, because someone dropped his or her damn washer right in the middle of the narrow path. It seemed serious, because the two fellows in front of me—a man and a woman—was holding each other by the shoulders and they were taking one slow step at a time. From the way I saw them walk, they were not going to leave any stones unturned. I had to join them in the search behind them, as there was literally no space besides them for me to overtake.
Imagine my excitement when I had the chance to use the skill I learned in the army. It was to my regret that I did not manage to find anything. In my defence, they couldn’t find anything either.
All I got was the nice view of the lady’s ass, which I used to measure the average butt size for the seats of the buses.
Update: The seats are not that wide. They’re 14″ wide exactly, with 1.5″ space in between the 2-seaters. Total size of a 2-seater is around 29.5″.
Andy Lawson is the average man on the street that you’ll not even trouble yourself looking at him if he passes by you. He’s sensitive to bullshit, and he hates mediocrity in most people. He is the author of his self-published book: Facts and Fiction of Fengshui: Facts that Masters are NOT Telling You. He doesn’t have Facebook or Twitter, because he hates to be associated with people who tend to be passive-aggressive online, but he does have a very limited set of vocabularies, terrible grammar, a twisted mind that makes himself God in his own twisted world and an ability to communicate with people who wish to be his friend.