Sarcasm blasts until your ass bleeds

Fuck, its hot. I’m dressed in a douche polo-t (collar propped, of course), jeans, and boat shoes. I tap my foot impatiently as I wait. No chiobus around, the consolation being a girl at my seven o’ clock wearing FBTs, still very much a cover-the-face,bomb-the-base type though.  A bus rolls into the stop and its a 171 - packed, full to the brim, with a malay couple squished at the front door. At least 30 people nonchalantly stroll up to the bus intending to board. The bus doesn’t move for 30 seconds or so, until an auntie spawns out of the cluster at the back and gets off. One of the 30, a PRC man, taps on the glass, screaming “Zen me bu kai men ya?”, which presumably means “hey my balls are itching and I need to take a shit!” (My chinese is pretty bad but I still have NO idea why he would say that). The 171 drives off, leaving a trail of sorrow and hokkien vulgarities in its wake.

Something is wrong, I’ve seen 963, 966, 960, 187,  and a Mitsubishi Lancer blasting techno come by the bus stop but still no 190. Suddenly, an idea strikes me! I turn around and go check the IRIS/SMRT dunnowat time indicator before bus arrival. I see :

“Waliew eh” I think, “If I wanted to learn pirate-speak I would have gone to Somalia okay”. No 190 in sight. In my huff, I whip out my earphones and mp3 player. Yes, MP3 player. Take that Apple tards! Because the dick device is on shuffle, it keeps playing songs that I put into it but I don’t necessarily want to hear. Skip, skip, skip, skip… “This one!”, I beam, “Seven AM wakin’ up in the mornin’ gotta get fresh gotta- UGH” , an umbrella handle catches me by the face and yanks two living daylights out of my left ear. I swear on my O level ten-year-series literally 20 million people pop out of nowhere and charge to the front of the bus stop, I turn my head and see that my psychopomps are finally here. Three glorious bendy-chariots bearing the numbers 190 moving together, as if as one.

I scramble to the front, pushing aside a few senior citizens and foreign talents along the way. The first bus was packed to the brim, much like the 171 previously. “Fucking assholes don’t know how to take the buses behind”, I thought angrily as I waited for the first door to open, “inside still got space what, they don’t know how to squeeze in meh?  

It actually barely qualifies as inside the bus. I have my left foot on the first step and my right foot on the pavement so the driver can’t close the door. The passengers inside struggle furiously to move thousands of nanometres while the people behind me threaten to dry hump me harder than a dog on a girl’s leg. The other two 190s behind have already driven off.

“HALLO, CAN YE OLL PULEASER MOOVER EENSAI!” yells the authentically, 100% without a shadow of a doubt, acclimatised Singaporean bus driver. Miraculously, the crowd displaces about 4 metres in, but the lady in front of me stops and fiddles into her bag, fishes out a purse, fiddles into her purse, fishes out a coin pouch and asks for the fare to Suntec city.

“We uh donta goa Saantek Shitty”, the bus driver sheepishly says.

“Oh!” says the lady, who turns around and makes the most uncomfortable exit between me and the divider-handle, with the musk, coconut oil, and 2 kilograms of gold jewellery screaming in my face.. “Thuhnker you!”, the woman shouts. Tuck you too, Madam

 I managed to have more intimate contact with women than the rest of my life outside taking public transport would allow me to. Just my right armpit managed to reach second base twice when my fellow passengers shuffled through towards the door to get off at Tanglin CC. At that moment, I looked aroud to see that there were about 30 standing passengers and 8 empty seats.

“BAN-   KAI!” I yelled as I prepared for the fight of my life. My legs took off at light speed and so did my hands(how else would I cop a few feels without anyone noticing?). I arrived beside a balding uncle sitting on the outer seat of a pair, whom instead of turning out or stepping away to let me in, chose to back the fuck up against his seat and tilt his head back as if being spontaneously raptured. I can’t decide whether moving in with my front or back facing him would’ve been more homoerotic, but I like swordfights so I take a step over his legs and choose to face him like a man. Never have I ever felt so much intensity and manliness emanate from myself in a standing reverse-missionary position with another guy (Thanks, SMRT. *brofist*). After that glorious moment, I sit down to join him in the vibrato-fest. A man’s buttocks do deserve a treat after a long battle.

10:42AM - Arrival

My body is shoved aside by a furious woman who refuses to believe my body language that I am standing in front of the exit door because I do, in fact, intend to get off at the next stop. She makes her hasty, athritis powered singular steps down while the rest of the world taps out at the other EZ-link scanner she isn’t blocking.With impeccable wit, I turn to her and scream “AI SIO GAN MAI?”, a dialect phrase that my friend tells me means “Learn to have patience!”, I make a triumphant march through the outside of CK Tangs, with skanky Philippina women being my entourage, as testament to my 1 hour and 5 minutes of bravery that morning. 

 

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