But I HAVE a Handicap. I'm a RETARD!by squid villanueva (English | Non-fiction)
A lot of us who commute to work using the EDSA MRT trains would probably agree that there aren't enough of them, especially during the rush hours. By the time a northbound train emerges from the Ayala Avenue Station, it is so overloaded it seems more like a meat machine carrying frightened Jews to Auschwitz than a modern vehicle carrying vapid yuppies to their meaningless jobs. Nevertheless, most of us prefer the MRT because the alternatives aren't any better. Catching a bus would all but guarantee we'd be arriving at the office at least an hour late courtesy of the Metro Manila clusterfuck traffic. Cabs, on the other hand, are out of the question due to their prohibitive rates. The train, at least, gets us to our destination on time. It sucks, but it's also the lesser evil.
However, it seems the hostile universe decided we haven't enough misery in the tragedy we call our lives.
You've probably noticed by now that there's a new segregation scheme being enforced in the EDSA MRT trains. The first car of each train is reserved for women, children, and the handicapped. That means the rest of us sound-bodied, grown men have the pleasure of basking in each other's stink and body heat from the second car onwards.
You must understand that I've never been the type of man who would give up my seat in the train for perfectly healthy women. I believe in equal opportunity. If women want to work alongside men then they should kick and claw their way to success like the rest of us. The only time I ever gave up a seat to a broad without any obvious disabilities was because she had tits like melons and I wanted to look down her blouse. No, I'm not the chivalrous type at all. I do have a soft spot for old people, pregnant women, and little children, though. At least I did once. Before the segregation scheme. Now I've become completely ruthless. I give no more quarter to the weak. I'd gladly elbow a pregnant woman in the belly to get a seat, make no mistake.
There are times when I'm tempted to walk towards the first car as if nothing was wrong. If the guard should accost me, I would simply tell him that since a woman who should be in the first car is taking up a valuable seat in the second, I'm just taking the seat that's rightfully hers in the first car. I can easily foresee what that would lead to, though.
Other times I'm tempted to buy a crutch and pretend that I have a bum leg. That is, until I realized that I don't have to pretend disability because I do have a handicap. I'm a retard! Not that the MRT administrators would appreciate that.
But let me tell you something. What riles me the most about this scheme is not that the first car is usually almost empty while the rest of the train is crammed like a Mexican dope mule's ass. It's not that men are on the losing end of the equal opportunity card. It's not even the "I'm-glad-I'm-not-you" look that stupid broad gives you from the first car as your face presses harder against the glass.
It's the fact that I've been denied the pleasure of molesting pretty teenaged girls! Really, have you seen how utterly ugly the women who persist in riding the men's cars are? It's as if they purposely refuse themselves the comforts of the first car in the hope that someone will finally grab their asses on the train.
The mind reels, gentlemen.