I hate people who go about their lives expecting everyone else to cater to their unreasonable, divaistic needs. I hate people who are infuriatingly picky over what they eat, and rush to the toilet to puke it all out the minute they swallow it. I hate people who wear frumpy clothes. And most of all, I hate people who have demons growing in them. Just when you thought no one could possibly embody all those hateful traits, the Pregnant Lady rises up to the challenge and fearlessly leads the coalition of all that is hateful.
Just the other day, I was contentedly snuggled in what I consider the holy grail of all MRT seats. It was a slight inconvenience that they labelled all the corner seats as ‘Reserved Seating’ for people with special needs, as if the elderly, disabled and pregnant called ahead to make reservations for their sick, frail asses. You see, the inconvenience wasn’t that I had to give up my seats, it was that I now have to look at these depressing people as they crowd around my seat. As a matter of principle, I never allow myself to believe the gross bigoted lies that the government tries to spread. They try to tell us how the old, crippled and bloated members of our society are inherently weaker and how they need our pity and sympathy, but ‘NO’, I say. These fat, wrinkled, scrotum-resembling creatures are strong and necessary members of our community, and they will damn well stand on the subway if they so choose to. Are we not belittling their courage by humiliating them with offers of seats and attention? And if they should so desire to graciously accept our seats, well then tough luck cause you’re gonna have to pry my cold dead body off this seat before I offer it up.
So there I was, comfortably enjoying my corner when one of those Entitled Pregnant Bitches comes and stands before me. I stare at her belly, telepathically willing the demon within to stop hiding in there like a pussy and come take the seat himself if he wants it so much. I look up at EPB and gives her a mysterious half-smile, and the poor dear must have thought that I was going to rise now, like a gentleman, and chivalrously let her sit down. Ha! I roll my eyes and went to ‘sleep’, daydreaming about what I’ll say to Satan when I finally meet him in Hell.
I feel people come in at the next stop, and my spider-senses tell me that EPB has been shuffled off to the side by the crowd of commuters. Feeling safe enough to abandon my ‘Oh deary me, were you pregnant? I was just asleep and not really a huge asshole even though I really am fantasizing about punching your baby in the neck” fake-out. I take a peek, and who do I see but an even huger Super Pregnant Bitch cornering me. You know the signs – her hand is on the rail, belly thrust in your face, hand continuously rubbing her tummy as if enticing me to headbutt her right there and then. “Is it my fucking baby?” I wanted to yell at her. “Did I put a hand-mixer in your hair and force you to have sex, lest I turn it on and twirl your hair and rip it right out of your skull sadistically?” I just don’t get these SPBs and EPBs. They’re the only people in the world who can turn their own horny inhibitions into a ticket for getting everything easy. You lose control of your sexual urges for one night and the world pays for it for nine months. Just rub that belly like a magic lamp and it all falls into place, doesn’t it?
The only thing MRT’s ‘Reserved Seating’ does is that it gives 90% of the other passengers a reason not to give up their seats. Sure, I was selfishly hogging that corner seat, but there are able-bodied men and women all around us, each self-righteously believing that under whatever circumstances, only the corner seats can be offered up. Their own ‘Common’ seats are safe from the pregnant vultures, and they can very well enjoy their guilt-less trips, condemning the blondie asshole who refuses to give up his Priority Seat.
“I would have totally given up that seat if I was sitting there”, you tell yourself. “It’s a pity I’m here in this lowly common seat and offering up this seat would be akin to offering up my soul, why would I ever do that?”
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