I don't usually take the MRT because:
1) It is not designed ergonomically and hence you have thousands of fuckwits who do not have the courtesy to move to the center of the carriage, which often results in your face being pressed up against the brylcream smeared windows, drool dripping down the front of your work clothes.
2) You have nothing to focus on (i do not read on moving things as I have motion sickness) except bad bad bad print ads of slimming centres, condos, the Navy (Good Lord take them down please!)...
3) Your jouney gets fragmented and you can't really space out or doze off because you have to keep your ears peeled for the ever familiar "For passengers travelling towards..."
I still prefer to travel by bus. I swear the quiet, or sometimes not so quiet drone of the engines have a calming "ohmmm" effect on me. Plus, window seats are best, and getting to see horse ears when I pass the polo club on the way home is the cherry topping of the entire experience
Today, unfortunately, was one of those days where I had to take the MRT.
And as I walked up the stairs to exit the station, I was greeted by an old man being made to open his heavy luggage for a lady police officer to inspect, from afar. An old rag and bone man that probably has arthritis and bad knees was made to bend down at her feet to unzip his big luggage. The fat tramp!
I wasn't so much the checking of his bags, I mean, we should be glad that our friends in blue are doing everything in their power to keep us safe, but honestly there has to be a more humane way of carrying it out. He was obviously struggling with his barang barang and she did'nt even offer to help. So I muttered "Not going to help the uncle?". She shot back at me in a string of malay and gave me the glare. Pft, so I help the uncle myself. Stupid fat woman. "No bombs woman. Ok?"
It must be PMS.
The clifford pier gate keeper
1) It is not designed ergonomically and hence you have thousands of fuckwits who do not have the courtesy to move to the center of the carriage, which often results in your face being pressed up against the brylcream smeared windows, drool dripping down the front of your work clothes.
2) You have nothing to focus on (i do not read on moving things as I have motion sickness) except bad bad bad print ads of slimming centres, condos, the Navy (Good Lord take them down please!)...
3) Your jouney gets fragmented and you can't really space out or doze off because you have to keep your ears peeled for the ever familiar "For passengers travelling towards..."
I still prefer to travel by bus. I swear the quiet, or sometimes not so quiet drone of the engines have a calming "ohmmm" effect on me. Plus, window seats are best, and getting to see horse ears when I pass the polo club on the way home is the cherry topping of the entire experience
Today, unfortunately, was one of those days where I had to take the MRT.
And as I walked up the stairs to exit the station, I was greeted by an old man being made to open his heavy luggage for a lady police officer to inspect, from afar. An old rag and bone man that probably has arthritis and bad knees was made to bend down at her feet to unzip his big luggage. The fat tramp!
I wasn't so much the checking of his bags, I mean, we should be glad that our friends in blue are doing everything in their power to keep us safe, but honestly there has to be a more humane way of carrying it out. He was obviously struggling with his barang barang and she did'nt even offer to help. So I muttered "Not going to help the uncle?". She shot back at me in a string of malay and gave me the glare. Pft, so I help the uncle myself. Stupid fat woman. "No bombs woman. Ok?"
It must be PMS.
The clifford pier gate keeper