I sometimes take the FX/Van/L200 on your way to work. For someone who lives in Laguna and decides to brave the traffic and the long travel, the FX terminal somehow becomes a best friend of sorts—the bullet train of the working class and the redemption of those bound by a fixed early time-in and are late-risers. But there are stories of FX horrors and urban legends lurking out there that are often times true. I’m not talking about things like:
- a mugger opening the doors during traffic and snatching cellphones, jewelry, or bags
- girls (and guys as well…the cute ones at least) being harassed especially in the dreaded 3-seater middle where 4 people (regardless of size and width) are forced, jammed, and packed like sardines, giving elbow room for deliberate and unintended brushing against boobs, knees, and the like. Though there are urban legends out there about consummated hand jobs while in transit. Ugh. Such talented people.
- Or haunted FX ala Stephen King’s “Christine”
No, no, no. This is nothing compared to my experience. (cue haunting, eerie musical score) It’s so horrifying that I cannot even muster the strength to talk about it. The blood, the gore, the smell of………
Uuuuggghhhh! Eeeeeeeewww! Yesterday, on my way to the office, I boarded a van—the one that has seats facing each other where if you get to sit on the one by the sliding door you feel like you are going backwards? How disorienting…but has its advantages especially if there are cuties with you. It’s like having a front row seat (pun, pun, pun) to PBB teen edition. (giggles) Anyway, I got that seat, driver side at least since I got to avoid the sun. Beside the driver: a very old man and a girl who looks like a student. Finally, we’re on our way. In the middle of our journey comes the smell of fart which I am very sure came from the front seat! The worst smell of fart, dude! Talk about a record-breaker. Dang! Considering I only had oatmeal and coffee that morning, I felt I was gonna puke. Now I know what it feels like to be in the gas chamber (no to capital punishment!). In perfect synchrony, all passengers within reach of the windows opened them. (cars crash behind us because of the deadly farthrax) When the fartometer read zero level of farthrax, windows closed, peace restored. All of a sudden…INCOMIIIING! FIRE IN THE HOLE! Kablaaaam! Another one! And it was even worse than the first one. That must have left a friggin’ mark! Well, same drill.
At the end of our journey, we had a taste of a total of 4 fart bombs. We had no casualties but there were major puking and dizziness.
(cue cheesy musical score, Jerome kneels, looks up to God and angrily screams while shaking clenched fists) whhhyyyyyyyyyyyy God??????? (sobs) whhyyyyyy???
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