Mundane Mondays
A while ago, as my neighbor gave me a lift to school, he quizzed me on the choice of public transportation. I had earlier surrendered the rein of the car to my dad, rationalizing that he should utilized his office season parking more often. Other factors include the irritability of searching for carpark lots (unless you are the Dean of the department, you do not get a reserved slot), silly bottlenecks caused by the incompetent image-detecting barrier, etc.
What I did not mention is the fact that I do enjoy taking buses to school (Note: not from school). The bus service that serves my neighborhood is rather exclusive, ensuring me of a comfortable seat to plop in and watch the world go by. I rather enjoy watching the blank expressions of passengers at the bus stops, trying to mentally speculate their destinations. Of course, interesting images are abundant - a resigned-looking grandfather allowing his grandchild to climb on his shoulder, over his head, much to the latter's unbridled joy; a frail old lady dragging numerous bags of groceries, with strength probably derived from the knowledge that her effort goes to feeding her beloved family; immaculately dressed ladies with expensive tote bags that probably cost 10 years of bus rides.
Bus rides to school are good for reflection. Bus rides from school is an entirely different matter, especially in peak hours because the men (or rather, boys) in Singapore has the civic consciousness the size of a pea. I think Singaporean men have developed a superb ability in cutting queues, clambering gingerly on board the bus while making sure to avoid exasperated stares and tut-tuts from their overtaken victims. In fact, some even utilize their backpacks as a sort of bulldozer to wipe out any potential obstructions in their quest to embark the bus. It is beyond me, really. I find it inside me naturally to sometimes give way to the older generation of uncles and aunties, or even to girls, while going up the buses, as a mark of respect or courtesy. Although these are thankless gestures, I do feel better about myself.
Ah, all these ramblings. Now for some Monday grouses about aging:
Mum: Cousin so-and-so getting married, you know.
Me: Mm-hmm. (Not looking up from my Sunday papers)
Mum: Aiyah, its no surprise.
Me: Mm-hmm. (Still not looking up...)
Mum: It's about time. She is quite old already, you know.
Cousin so-and-so is the same age as me.
Bouncer (to Wanling): I want to see your ID.
Wanling: Oh. (Absent-mindedly handed over the Phuture Passes)
Bouncer: ID?
Wanling: Huh. (Incredulous)
Bouncer: ID!
Wanling: I don't have! (Because she is 29.)
Bouncer smiled in resignation and waved her off. He allowed Reuben and me in without ID verification. Reuben noted this discrimination and quizzed,"Eh, how come he didn't stop you?"
I am 3 years younger than her.
Sigh.
Mondays.
What I did not mention is the fact that I do enjoy taking buses to school (Note: not from school). The bus service that serves my neighborhood is rather exclusive, ensuring me of a comfortable seat to plop in and watch the world go by. I rather enjoy watching the blank expressions of passengers at the bus stops, trying to mentally speculate their destinations. Of course, interesting images are abundant - a resigned-looking grandfather allowing his grandchild to climb on his shoulder, over his head, much to the latter's unbridled joy; a frail old lady dragging numerous bags of groceries, with strength probably derived from the knowledge that her effort goes to feeding her beloved family; immaculately dressed ladies with expensive tote bags that probably cost 10 years of bus rides.
Bus rides to school are good for reflection. Bus rides from school is an entirely different matter, especially in peak hours because the men (or rather, boys) in Singapore has the civic consciousness the size of a pea. I think Singaporean men have developed a superb ability in cutting queues, clambering gingerly on board the bus while making sure to avoid exasperated stares and tut-tuts from their overtaken victims. In fact, some even utilize their backpacks as a sort of bulldozer to wipe out any potential obstructions in their quest to embark the bus. It is beyond me, really. I find it inside me naturally to sometimes give way to the older generation of uncles and aunties, or even to girls, while going up the buses, as a mark of respect or courtesy. Although these are thankless gestures, I do feel better about myself.
Ah, all these ramblings. Now for some Monday grouses about aging:
Mum: Cousin so-and-so getting married, you know.
Me: Mm-hmm. (Not looking up from my Sunday papers)
Mum: Aiyah, its no surprise.
Me: Mm-hmm. (Still not looking up...)
Mum: It's about time. She is quite old already, you know.
Cousin so-and-so is the same age as me.
Bouncer (to Wanling): I want to see your ID.
Wanling: Oh. (Absent-mindedly handed over the Phuture Passes)
Bouncer: ID?
Wanling: Huh. (Incredulous)
Bouncer: ID!
Wanling: I don't have! (Because she is 29.)
Bouncer smiled in resignation and waved her off. He allowed Reuben and me in without ID verification. Reuben noted this discrimination and quizzed,"Eh, how come he didn't stop you?"
I am 3 years younger than her.
Sigh.
Mondays.
posted by jellybeano at 10:26 AM
2 Comments:
eh i thought it was the foreign guys who do the shoving / squeezing / nudging...
so far sg guys seem quite ok leh.
and ur mum damn funny la! keep trying to hint you to get married hahaha
hmm, i notice Singaporean guys doing it too. I mean, I don't think many PRCs take bus 95 although they do, too. Yah but i do agree a significant portion stems from foreign guys in the shuttle bus department. Heh.
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