The Trainman

Today, like most everyday when I go to and from school, I took the train. Yeah, I don't drive. Working on it. But that isn't the point.

Singaporeans can be proud of their public transport system. At least, the MRT. I've been to Britain and Germany, where they boast "impressive" public trains for intra-city travel, and quite frankly... I'm sorry Europe, but you suck, for lack of a better word.

Well, maybe only in comparison to Singapore, at least. Now, I'm no patriot. I hate how Singapore is rather dull and routine. Life in Singapore is often mundane at best, and even "breaking news" is mediocre on a good day.

Good evening, Singapore. Our top story today, Prime Minister Lee Hsien Long visits Aljunied GRC. In other news, the national football team lost again to The Association of BLind Paraplegics...

But I digress. As I was saying, I was on the train today, and like most any day, a series of unfortunate events befell your friendly neighbourhood Naz.

Firstly, I was fleetfooted enough to procure myself a seat. Yay. No yay. On the right, a rather large woman. What kind of large? Well. The happily-coloured plastic seats are all joined, right? With those bum-shaped indentations to regulate passenger seating arrangements. She was intruding in my personal space.

If that wasn't enough, the guy on my left was a sleeper. Now, I once launched a rather long and fairly humourous tirade against "sleepers" on the bus and/or train (and I might revisit that in the future...), but this one takes the cake.

He looked like a bum. Dirty striped shirt, half-unbuttoned. Dirtier fingernails. Long fingernails. Patches of hair that were alternating between invisible and out-of-control. Shorts. Broken sandals. Veins.

Now, some of you might argue that "Hey Naz, you aren't quite the fashionista yourself!" but I don't smell of beer.

Which is what this charming fellow did. Very well. I hate the smell of beer. On people. Not wielding a glass. In public. In close proximity.

So in between Drew Carrey's sister and Mr Tiger Beer, I remained seated, because as much as it pained me (a combination of breath-holding and contorting of my extremities), the scene in front of me was one out of a porn flick. From HELL.

Two middle aged (and I'm being generous) Chinese men, holding the hands of two rather skinny Chinese girls. Against their fruit packages. Take a moment to envision that, folks. I had almost a full half-hour to try and not notice.

On a somewhat-related note, why is it that in Singapore, nearly every instance of Paedophilic Displays of Affection occur between members of our large Chinese community? Ok, I get that being the largest racial group would statistically increase the likelyhood of one such as myself catching an unwanted peepshow on the train, but that's just not right. I don't see some old Pak Cik or some old Indian fella doing the same thing. Oh well. No offence, Chinese dudes and dudettes, but is that why China has a billion people? Eh?

So, there I was. Stuck between a drunk and a soft place. Being mentally tortured by the twin visions of poor public porn. Sigh.

Some poor chap dropped his strangely heavy wallet on my shoe as well. And I was gracious enough to point out to the oblivious fellow. But we all knows good deeds are overrated anyway.

Sigh. Only on a Singapore train.