50 Shades of Confusing

Reading is good. At least, that's what people who read are always telling me. I'm fairly certain though that not all reading is created equal. A hundred pages of Twilight does not equal a hundred pages of War and Peace. Of course, different books will appeal to different audiences, and that is where my confusion for the day occurs.

I was riding on the skytrain next to some 20-something looking guy. He was in track pants and a t-shirt, carrying what appeared to be some form of sports bag. My first clue to expect the unexpected with this guy should have been when he sat down and didn't smell like an old sweat sock, but rather like laundry fresh from the dryer. I may have proceeded to read a few of his text messages over his shoulder, but this is somewhat difficult to do and they appeared mostly uninteresting. (One of them did mention some other dude hitting puberty, which seemed weird, but I'm really hoping it was just very mildly worded mocking of said other dude.) Then he pulled out a book. It seems that he was unabashedly and in public reading 50 Shades of Grey. Now not having read the book myself, perhaps I have misjudged the target audience, but I was pretty sure it was not 20-something year old boys. I guess maybe he's working his way up to War and Peace, while he stimulates his, um, brain with some reading.

Have you never ridden a crowded skytrain?

The skytrain was extra special crowded from Columbia today. I spent a couple stops trapping some poor short Asian man in a perma-side-hug because it was the only way I could reach the handrail. Sorry, dude. My personal space didn't enjoy it much either. But those are the joys of the skytrain at rush hour; personal space invasion, being trapped in awkward positions, jostling, shoving to get on and off are all par for the course.

Some guy apparently didn't get the memo. Now I don't exactly know what happened, because my back was to the situation and I had my headphones in, so I didn't hear what was going on until it deteriorated into shouts of "don't push me" with some f-bombs interspersed. From the limited context it seemed as though one man had shoved his way onto the train and a second man didn't like that. (By the time I heard the shouting, no actual shoving was occurring.) Upon exiting the train, I walked past the second man, who was still insisting on shouting at the first man something about how he let him off the train without pushing him. Then he called the first man a little girl (wow, good one sir, if you were both 5, I bet that would be really hurtful).

Now like I said, I didn't actually see the inciting incident, but I'd have to imagine it wasn't a full on two hands to the chest, let's rumble push, otherwise it would have ended in more than shouting like petulant children. And really, anything less than that is basically fair game on a crowded train.

This is not your bathroom

I can understand the confusion. After all, it's not entirely uncommon for the skytrain to smell like a public washroom. However that doesn't change the fact that it is not one. Now I suppose that just because I personally don't like to leave my house without my face on doesn't mean some people won't take advantage of the extra few minutes of sleep by doing their makeup on the train. I can accept this. It's a relatively contained process that's not loud or particularly messy and it doesn't result in bodily debris being strewn around the skytrain. But then there's the hairbrushing. While it's still not the worst of the offenses that fall under the "keep it in your bathroom category", it does break transit rule #4 (http://buggedonthebus.blogspot.ca/2013/11/pieces-of-you-transit-rule-4.html?m=1). So regardless of how clean and lice free her hair appeared, I really didn't need locks of long ginger hair from the girl sitting in front of me all over my backpack this morning.

Just say no to sharing yourself with others on public transit...especially without their consent (or really even with their consent, but that's another post).

It's bound to happen, but I really wish it wouldn't

I'm minding my own business, riding the skytrain at the end of the day. When suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a cloud of stench wafts passed my nostrils, followed by the immediate and horrid realization that it has happened. Someone farted on the skytrain. Now maybe this isn't the worst of all possible offenses, after all it is transient and occasionally unavoidable. However, it's also unexpected and anonymous. This means you can't escape it or prepare for it; it's not like the guy talking to himself or a woman with a screaming toddler - the trouble you can see coming. There's also no one to blame, because last I checked, no one is holding up a sign that says, "It was me. I farted." So now there's not even anyone to be mad at. So tempting as it may be to let one rip while riding transit, perhaps you could not ... or at least wait for the doors to be open so the draft can clear the smell.