Happy Commercialismas

Nothing fuels my hate fire for humanity better than taking the MRT at rush hour two weeks before Christmas. Everybody is out exercising their purchasing powers, and while half is stuck in traffic on EDSA and wishing upon each other a painful and violent death, the other half is crammed on the trains. It’s an amazing phenomenon, really. It all turns into a Laws of Physics-defying mass of humanity. You move up the levels of intimacy with your fellow train takers faster than if you’re drunk and frisky at a party. You start with a comfortable personal bubble and end up butt cheek to butt cheek with total strangers.

This varies of course. If you’re in the first car (the one for the women, pregnant, elderly, peeps with children, and peeps with disabilities), then it can go in any number of ways: butt cheek to back, boobs to back, and boobs to boobs, among others. This is not hot. Not hot at all. There are also instances when you will find yourself at odds with an extra large gift item, including, but not limited to, boxes of cakes, small foldable tables, wooden boxes, and large stuffed animals.

Personally, I think the most unpleasant is having my face pressed against a giant stuffed tiger, and having to inhale from said stuffed animal’s crotch area and getting instant asthma.

Happy Commercialismas to you too bitches.