Public Transportation Hell
I hate public transportation!!!
To fully understand and appreciate my story, you have to ride on public transportation daily, or a somewhat regular basis. Ya see, when I travel I have a set way of doing things; and whether you consider that anal-retentive or not, I don't give a shit, cuz this is my life and you're not the boss of me. I get on the 8:45 bus to NYC, and since I am the first stop on the route I get my choice of seats -- and I take full advantage of it. I sit down, put my shit on the other seat, and fully recline to the max. Then once I'm all situated, I put on the MP3 player and pretend to sleep until I really do fall asleep.
Now the key to making sure that someone doesn't sit next to you -- unless it is a full bus -- is making yourself seem:
A. like you're asleep, and
B. that you weigh 400lbs and are 6'5.
People don't feel like being cramped and they don't feel like waking somebody up who is sound asleep.
Public Transportation Hell Scene 1, Act 1
Now, every once in a while you get the random freak who sits next to you and makes your commute quickly turn into an "it's gunna be one of those fucking days" event. This story, if you haven't gathered it yet, is one of those days.
So about a month or so ago I had the privilege of getting the smelly and crazy person to sit next to me. Now, the woman wasn't that bad, with the exception of the non-stop fidgeting in her bag, and the fact that she would read her book out loud. FUCKING OUT LOUD. Now, clearly marked on the inside of the bus is a sign that reads "cell phones are verboten. Not allowed. Thru deductive reasoning, one can deduce that it isn't really the phone that bothers people, it is the talking out loud. So, when this nice lady happened next to me, I just turned my head and asked her to try to read to herself -- all along in my mind I was wondering "what is this women thinking?" That was the end of that, she stopped reading out loud and I fell into my deep sleep for the remainder of the trip.
Public Transportation Hell Scene 1, Act 2
Now the real point of this story is to emphasize what happened to me on monday, of all days. After carrying on like I usually do, ya know, going thru the motions of my morning exercises, I find myself in a different kind of situation with the same crazy lady. Keep in mind, this is worse, a lot worse. This time she sits next to me, twitching and carrying on like I am used to already but something felt and seemed off, not of the norm if you will. Could have been her hair, or the fact that her pants were too short, or that she didn't smell like she usually does. Now, if it possible to bottle the smell of blood, and put it into some sort of spraying apparatus, then you can understand the fucking stench that is normally associated with this woman (trust me on this. as a hockey player I am familiar -- even comfortable with -- the smell and taste of blood).
So to my pleasant surprise, I didn't need to endure the 45 minute bus ride to the city smelling the odor of blood and kashi rice. AHHHHHH UTOPIA. But as you can tell the joke was on me. About ten or fifteen minutes into the trip, just about the same time as I was going to either jump out the window or push her ass into the aisle because of her twitching factor, I opened my eyes to the sight of her reaching into her bag (for the twentieth time), and pulling out the ever present perfume bottle. Now it took me a second to realize what sort of shit storm I was about to be tossed in, but when I did, man was it perfect, absolutely perfect for a monday morning.
I ask you this: if you are ever in a bus or on a train or even a plane for that matter, would you ever and I mean EVER hose yourself down with cologne or perfume? I mean that is down right inconsiderate and just plain rude. I would totally rather you talk on the phone as loud as a pro-wrestler than spray yourself with some sort of patchouli piss. Anyway, after she pulled her bottle of funk out of her bag, it wasn't to look at it, but to use it -- spraying herself down with the "blood" perfume, not only on her neck but her left and right wrist.
But here is the kicker, since the spray usually comes out in a fine mist, yup, you guessed it, it got on me.
"WHAT THE FUCK!!??" was the first and only thing that rang out of my mouth as I presented her with the most menacing and angry look that I could muster. Then after wiping my arm with the other hand, which wasn't the best idea, the smell hit me. I mean hit me like food poisoning (which i had this past friday night) or like a mack truck, or like something big that can hit hard. Then I said it again, "WHAT THE FUCK", and immediately proceeded to cover my nose with my shirt and tried to huddle next to the air-conditioning vent as much as possible. Didn't work. Lucky for me though, after the two consecutive "WHAT THE FUCKS" and my "bruiser face" she decided to pick her shit up and move to another seat. But, the damage was done. My day was set. Not only did I not get the sleep that I desperately needed, but for the rest of the day I smelled like a god damned cadaver.
There was a moral victory here, somewhere. Oh I know -- I scared a strange woman. So way the long and short of it is, is that I got sprayed by a blood smelling perfume by someone that totally had no care in the world, and had no intention of saying "I'm sorry for spraying blood on you". But anyway, I can almost guarantee that she will never sit next to me, and read out loud or spray her perfume on me, ever ever again. And if by chance she decides to, man I will go completely fucking monkey on her.