So recently I’ve come to the revelation that I happen to be one of those poor souls who’s always stuck at either witnessing a bit too much personal misdemeanor in the public sphere. Somehow in the course of around 2 weeks or so, I have managed to get myself SMACK in the face of watching people pick their noses, being 5cm away from some dude who passed gas on a packed subway car, or other unmentionable activities which some chose to make public in Toronto’s public transportation system. I shall name a few of the said unmentionable activities.
I am most certainly not a neat freak, and it WOWs me so to see someone having the audacity to whip out their whole manicure kit on the metro. It’s technically a physically quasi-impossible act; balancing a nail polish bottle in a throttling subway car often gives a high of 99% of the bottle spilling ALL over. However, that, my friends, still falls under the artistic category. Misdemeanor on the other hand is much, much more colourful than a bottle of Sally Hansen.
So one fine spring day I was happily listening to my ipod and even happier to have found a seat on the way home in the jam-packed subway car. Around 2 stops later, the person sitting next to me left and another dude sat down half-way, with his back facing my left. One more stop away from our silent seat-sharing, I started to smell something very, very putrid. And I realized this guy purposely sat like so next to me because he knew he was about to fart any minute.
Now being stuck in a corner when your comrade next to you passed gas is a very, very unfortunate affair. You are stuck with nowhere to turn. You cannot turn outward, and all hope for fresh air to sift in through the crowd is usually in vain. Worse of all, the feeling of impending warfare between yourself and said comrade makes the air heavier- no pun intended- than it seems. You know they know that you are annoyed and quite likely very upset. Sometimes they might be embarrassed (hence the continuous cold shoulder, whoops, back). Sometimes they even have the guts to look back and give you a “whoops, sucks to be you” look.
And then the other day I managed to sit down beside a very well-dressed young lady whose feet quite literally smelled like the entire city’s sewage system unearthed itself and surfaced and decided to take a bus ride and tour the city. I felt very sorry for her pair of sandals.
PDAs and nose-picking on the other hand came by a dime a dozen. It happened too often for me or anyone to care. As long as the young lovebirds’ saliva and other unmentionable substances do not get on me, I’m okay with that.
However, I will never, ever forget the moment when, near the end of the metro line, some woman presumably assumed that no one would look at her, and started to pick at her nose with such severity and force, that she looked like if she dug any deeper her face would just pop and explode like one of ’em silent volcanos in Iceland or something. Another man was witnessing the whole charade and looked at me, absolutely mortified and embarrassed, for mortal support. I on the other hand completely was stoked beyond words at the sight. EW, EW, and EW.
Next time you are at it with the unmentionable activities, remember: someone might be watching, and they just *might take your photo with their smartphone….