Andre looked wide-eyed at the gigantic notice plastered across Clayton train station’s gate. ‘No trains are running today. Bus services have been arranged as an alternative to the nearest train station. To get to the city, please board the train at Oakleigh train station platform 2.’
That would take a good two hours! Good grief, what are they doing to me here? Andre thought to himself as he stubbornly rammed his face into the cold, tightly shut glass doors of the train station. So hard was the collision between his face and the door that Andre thought he heard the faintest snap in the upper bridge of his nose. The train station was completely deserted, besides that one fruit-fly which came flying merrily towards Andre’s squashed face on the other side of the door, as if to mock his helplessness. This enraged Andre more, but he reluctantly let the anger pass him by. He had more important issues in life to deal with at the moment.
Giving the closed platform a final malicious look, Andre spun around and started to scan the vicinity for the assigned bus replacement service. He found it soon enough, and raced towards the bus like a hawk chasing a rabbit. I’m swift as the flowing river, he kept telling himself as he ran, skipping over puddles of water with such grace and determination, all the while humming to the tune of 'I believe I can fly'.
‘C’mon mate you are holding everyone up!’ yelled the bus driver. Andre jumped in surprise, almost losing his balance on the steps of the bus and knocking over the poor old woman behind him. Taking in a deep breath and calming himself down, Andre leaped into the jam-packed bus, squeezing in just in time before the bus driver impatiently slammed the door shut, missing Andre’s big toe by a whisker. The ride to Oakleigh train station was nothing short of painful.
What is that terrible, terrible smell?
Andre tried as best as possible to put up with the smell, but curiosity soon got the better of him. The phrase ‘Curiosity killed the cat’ would never have been used more ideally than in this situation. Andre strained his neck, rotating it almost an impossible 180 degrees. There, just inches away from Andre’s face, was the source of the foul smell: An armpit. Yes, an armpit. Actually, it was The armpit. The armpit which managed to leisurely fill the bus with its pleasant aroma like roses in a garden. The armpit which was being held up high and proud (and open) like the Olympic torch, ready to fill people’s hearts with love and joy and the fresh scent of victory.
Andre looked away and closed his eyes, reminding himself that ignorance was bliss.
That would take a good two hours! Good grief, what are they doing to me here? Andre thought to himself as he stubbornly rammed his face into the cold, tightly shut glass doors of the train station. So hard was the collision between his face and the door that Andre thought he heard the faintest snap in the upper bridge of his nose. The train station was completely deserted, besides that one fruit-fly which came flying merrily towards Andre’s squashed face on the other side of the door, as if to mock his helplessness. This enraged Andre more, but he reluctantly let the anger pass him by. He had more important issues in life to deal with at the moment.
Giving the closed platform a final malicious look, Andre spun around and started to scan the vicinity for the assigned bus replacement service. He found it soon enough, and raced towards the bus like a hawk chasing a rabbit. I’m swift as the flowing river, he kept telling himself as he ran, skipping over puddles of water with such grace and determination, all the while humming to the tune of 'I believe I can fly'.
‘C’mon mate you are holding everyone up!’ yelled the bus driver. Andre jumped in surprise, almost losing his balance on the steps of the bus and knocking over the poor old woman behind him. Taking in a deep breath and calming himself down, Andre leaped into the jam-packed bus, squeezing in just in time before the bus driver impatiently slammed the door shut, missing Andre’s big toe by a whisker. The ride to Oakleigh train station was nothing short of painful.
What is that terrible, terrible smell?
Andre tried as best as possible to put up with the smell, but curiosity soon got the better of him. The phrase ‘Curiosity killed the cat’ would never have been used more ideally than in this situation. Andre strained his neck, rotating it almost an impossible 180 degrees. There, just inches away from Andre’s face, was the source of the foul smell: An armpit. Yes, an armpit. Actually, it was The armpit. The armpit which managed to leisurely fill the bus with its pleasant aroma like roses in a garden. The armpit which was being held up high and proud (and open) like the Olympic torch, ready to fill people’s hearts with love and joy and the fresh scent of victory.
Andre looked away and closed his eyes, reminding himself that ignorance was bliss.
3 comments:
Another fine piece of writing! Won't know about the public transportation horrors cause I am staying as far as possible from it. In mine country you will have to share your seat with a chicken, or two. I'm not that brave.
One time it happened to me. No trains were running that day and I was told I need to take the 'replacement' bus. I was like, "Hell no!" And it would have been pointless to take the bus because by train it's 2 hours straight to work already. Now you can imagine the scenario if I take the bus!
I called office and told them I can't make it to work because of said problem.
I went home. Happy. ;p
And The Armpits? I've come across a few of them and my nose always picks on the nastiest of smells. ewwgghhh...
@WhiteSock Girl: Frankly, I would rather sit beside a chicken in a bus, as long as it doesn't poop on me. At least that way I won't have to put up with the unthoughtful people in the world. Gosh I sound anti-social, but really, I'm not.
@Johana Hill: Just last month I took the train which was supposed to run along my line. For some reason, the driver missed the rail change and went onto another line altogether. Being the righteous man that I am, I called up the railway system to lodge a complaint. That was my good deed for the year.
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