Its 6pm on a weekday, and the MRT trains are packed with commuters.
I squeezed into a carriage at Redhill Station and looked for a space to stand.
As usual, someone would be leaning against the vertical poles, oblivious to all the others around her. For only she alone is important enough to hog the whole pole. The rest of the commuters are beneath her, we have no right to safety and comfort.
Thank you, bitch.
With nowhere to hang on to for dear life, I will try to balance myself in the train. Swaying in time with other commuters, keeping ourselves from sprawling across the carriage.
No more! I screamed quietly to myself and reached out with one hand to grasp the coverted pole. Then I stopped myself. That would mean I would actually have to touch her grotty denim jacket.
No, I will take a picture instead.
Then take a deep breath and listen to Doris Day on my nano.
"Move Over Darling..."
Yes, I am a wuss, but then I have righteous indignation.
Bitch.
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