You might have heard about my love-hate relationships with buses before on these pages. The aluminium clad cans which are our own means of (occasionally) rapid transport.

First, a warning. This post is rated PG-You’reNeverOldEnoughForThisShit.

This scene repeats itself in countless buses on countless routes. Someone gets on a bus, finds a seat, and sits down. So far so good. But if the seat happens to be an aisle seat, that is, not the window seat, you are most probably in for a ride full of so much writhing and cringing it could be mistaken for a screening of Twilight at Cannes.

When I was little, my dad told me that I would face many injustices in life. Like the fact that women got us kicked out of Eden, yet get free pass into the best clubs. I mean, come on God! Really?

He also said “Son, by far the worst thing you will experience will be The Aisle Seat… the aisle seat… aisle seat… seat ….seat… seat… sea…” and walked slowly backwards before turning and running up the stairs.

But nothing he could have said has prepared me for this… this travesty that is the aisle seat of a crowded bus!

You must be wondering by now what I’m going on about. You must be wondering why you read this blog at all. You must be wondering if I’ve completely lost my legos. Is that the right toy? Non sequiturs aside, this post is about those times when some rabid beast of a man positions himself right next to your seat and… Does what can best be described as a war dance on your shoulder. I shudder at merely typing it! You know, when you’re sitting in a crowded bus, and sooner or later some male positions himself right next to you?

There are normal people, and then there are people who do this. They will slowly nudge themselves forward till they make contact with your shoulder. Then when you move away, squashing the person in the seat next to you, they’ll come closer. It is a complete mystery why this happens. I mean, if I were standing, I sure as hell wouldn’t be doing the Privates Salsa on some strangers’ shoulder.

The best way to get rid of these vermin, I’ve discovered, is a multi-stage process. First you stare them in the eye. Stare, not look. You convey a message of “Get your crotch away from my shoulder you vile creature, or face the wrath of my balled up fists of fury on your weakest point!”. If he doesn’t respond to this, gently nudge them with your elbow. No, not there. Creep.

If they still fail to react, then you are left with the firm push from your elbow. That’s usually enough even for the likes of Steven Hawking so stand straight.

There have been scattered reports of women doing this kind of thing for quite different reasons *cough*theWhackster*cough*, but that is best not discussed, lest I suddenly see the sky above my current position blackened by the hail of heeled shoes arching their way towards me.

@Halikazeez being assaulted by a female

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