A Streetcar Named...Fourteen?
Don't you just hate kids on public transport?
I was sitting on tram number 14 this morning, making my way to school, late as usual, when a woman with a 5 year-old child gets on. Normally, this sort of thing doesn't bother me. I'm usually too busy hoping the tram will somehow get through the big traffic jam in five minutes instead of fifteen, so that I might be able to get through without being marked late.
Alas, today was obviously a lost cause, so I was resigned to tardiness yet again. At least I was enjoying one of those overly long Yes songs (the one I was listening to at that time was a twenty-minute version of 'Close to the Edge') so I was pretty relaxed.
And what happens? 5 year-old idiot child sits right behind me.
Not only that, it clings on to the metal bar attached to the back of my seat.
Not only that, a single, priceless, beautiful strand of my ash-blonde hair gets tangled in the idiot child's fat, grubby little paws.
There I am, rooted to the spot, too scared to turn around lest I should discover a deposit of snot all over the thing's face, but too uncomfortable and annoyed not to do anything. Now you might think a single hair is not that big a deal, but see, if I had even moved so much as a fraction of a centimetre, there would have been immeasurable pain.
With all the nonchalance I could muster (which isn't much, I'm afraid) I very, very slowly leaned forward. After a few tense seconds, I finally felt my dear little lock come free of the clutch of that evil thing. I was saved!
Well, not so much. My brain spent the next three minutes conjuring images of drooling children, their fingers in their mouths, saliva all over the place... I shudder to think of it now, imagine then! It took quite a while to absorb the shock of having some kid's saliva on my hair.
Ew.
Eventually, I mustered enough courage to turn around. The kid was a girl. She was making those random sounds that kids like to make.
How eternally grateful I was when the mother finally pulled her away; their stop had obviously come.
'Close to the Edge' was still not over, and it inevitably brought back horrendous memories of fat, wet, sticky fingers, and imprisoned hair. I changed to 'Sweet Home Alabama', and that made me feel better.
Oh, and I was late to school.
I was sitting on tram number 14 this morning, making my way to school, late as usual, when a woman with a 5 year-old child gets on. Normally, this sort of thing doesn't bother me. I'm usually too busy hoping the tram will somehow get through the big traffic jam in five minutes instead of fifteen, so that I might be able to get through without being marked late.
Alas, today was obviously a lost cause, so I was resigned to tardiness yet again. At least I was enjoying one of those overly long Yes songs (the one I was listening to at that time was a twenty-minute version of 'Close to the Edge') so I was pretty relaxed.
And what happens? 5 year-old idiot child sits right behind me.
Not only that, it clings on to the metal bar attached to the back of my seat.
Not only that, a single, priceless, beautiful strand of my ash-blonde hair gets tangled in the idiot child's fat, grubby little paws.
There I am, rooted to the spot, too scared to turn around lest I should discover a deposit of snot all over the thing's face, but too uncomfortable and annoyed not to do anything. Now you might think a single hair is not that big a deal, but see, if I had even moved so much as a fraction of a centimetre, there would have been immeasurable pain.
With all the nonchalance I could muster (which isn't much, I'm afraid) I very, very slowly leaned forward. After a few tense seconds, I finally felt my dear little lock come free of the clutch of that evil thing. I was saved!
Well, not so much. My brain spent the next three minutes conjuring images of drooling children, their fingers in their mouths, saliva all over the place... I shudder to think of it now, imagine then! It took quite a while to absorb the shock of having some kid's saliva on my hair.
Ew.
Eventually, I mustered enough courage to turn around. The kid was a girl. She was making those random sounds that kids like to make.
How eternally grateful I was when the mother finally pulled her away; their stop had obviously come.
'Close to the Edge' was still not over, and it inevitably brought back horrendous memories of fat, wet, sticky fingers, and imprisoned hair. I changed to 'Sweet Home Alabama', and that made me feel better.
Oh, and I was late to school.
Labels: Random is good
posted by The Poodle's Friend at 6:38 PM
2 Comments:
Of course you were late to school. You're always late to school. Its a wonder that AKB even let you in today after you told her that she was unattractive.
You're a clean-freak and you need help. She touched your hair not licked it or smelt it. Anyways, your limp, indisinguishable coloured tresses must have frightened her.
Name one time you were on time... especially for math class! Suit yourself- be late and lose the privilige of sitting next to me in class. tough luck. not that I mind, of course, especially as I've switched to methods. My math class companion NOW is a great deal more punctual than you will ever be!
I guess puntuality is all I will ever be able to criticise you for. Double humpf.
And cleanliness. Just think - you were not able to wash your hair. And germs/bacteria are not static. They move. They crawl (or so I like to think). They probably reproduced, and swarmed your whole body.
TPR , I have sad news for you: YOU ARE CONTAMINATED!!! And not just because of the avian flu....
Harry
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