Mobile Meat Market
Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 4:36 pm
For the last month and a moon ago, I've had to use the public Bay Area Rapid Transit BART for my personal movements sans automobile, as well as other public transportation, meaning buses and light rail.
Why you may ask? Yes, You may, I permit it.
'Cause I still, and may never ever, own a car. Dis is: Da Vida Loca- please keep your hands and arms inside the ride at all times....
Which includes riding BART- the streetie shuttle, the human cattle car, or as I'm disappointed to report: the mobile meat market <sigh>
Hey, I've seen hook-ups happen on board trains and planes before, but those were willing participants wooing, and not male-macho-pressure pressed upon my person, phew. Chingo, who the Hell told these chauvinists that a solo female was fair game, huh!?
Happens to me all the time;
… We're a man and a woman alone on the same shift: we must have sex!
...We're a man and a woman alone in the same room: we must have sex!
...We're a man and a woman alone on the same train: we must have sex!
...We're a man and a woman alone on the same seat: we must have sex!
Argh! It's not like I'm trying even remotely to look attractive to the opposite sex. If the sexual opposite me isn't my boyfriend, then I'm not interested. Especially, when I'm riding to and from a project, like I've been doing lately. These last few times, I've been hit on- I was in dirty, baggy work clothes, wearing no make-up, and frankly, I probably didn't smell great; plus I was trying vainly to be preoccupied with sleeping or reading.
I suppose the only freakin' thing that identified me as a lady was my horsetail (that's what I call my ponytail, it's so long, it's more like a horse's than a pony's) ...so, there I was trying to sleep on the BART train, it's a long boring ride, made longer and even more boring by the fact, that the commute has been delayed by the damn Oakland Occupation, plus another small earthquake; and that has inspectors stopping to check the tracks every quarter mile. That's one reason why I was seated next to the window, so that I could rest my head, the other reason was that with fewer trains running, this one was getting overloaded with more passengers. I figured I'd make room for somebody else...
...Did it have to be a young, drunk young Indian salaryman? The first sign something was suspicious, was when he didn't just sit down beside me; he had to try and sit along side me [!] with a `thump` like he was to wake me. No, I wasn't fast asleep, just dozing; I never let myself be unawares of my surroundings, but I hoped I could avoid any interaction, if I could feign sleep till my destination. Fortunately, in my favor, the seats on the BART are all individual bucket type and not benches, meaning, he couldn't try cosying up for long.
So, a blessed twenty minutes of nap or so, passes and the salaryman can't do much more with an unconscious person without really getting intrusive; when curse the Occupy-curse the 99% and thier civil disobedience! The engineer has to make an announcement explaining that anyone making a transfer at the Oakland 19th station to Embarcadero would be subject to further delays because of the protests.
While I was going south, not north, fortunately that didn't really directly concern me, but the damage had been done; I'd lifted my head to hear the report better ...and the Indian took this an opportunity to speak, 'Are you alright?' he asked.
Poop, now I had to answer him, since that was a polite inquiry about my wellbeing. It seemed easy enough to explain that I was listening to the announcement because that was my transfer station, but I'd be headed south. Then damn it, a conversation was born.
Now wait a minute, how do you know- I mean. how did I know he was trying to hit on me?
Maybe he just wanted to talk, 'eh? Maybe he was just being friendly, okay?
How do I know; because he told me.
He tried polite.
He tried blunt.
Then, he even offered to pay me.
How much? Oh, shut up!
It couldn't have been much clearer than that.
...but that wasn't as bad as the next week. The next week, there was a guy who didn't say a word...
This was on the bus, late after dark and this time I had armed myself with a book so, it would be rude to interrupt my reading. Same situation, very crowded commute; me and my horsetail are sitting alone, the only difference was the guy was a Latino laborer. Shoot, he probably didn't even speak English, but no problemo, he just let his body do the talking. His technique was a little more practiced, his lean from his seat was with his upper body; he sat and quickly rested his shoulder against mine.
Crap. I hoped and prayed this had something to do with the press of the crowd on the bus, but soon he just started relaxing his whole arm against mine. Chingo.
Well, I still didn't have to acknowledge him, I had a book, couldn't he see that? Sure, he could see it, he was looking right at it; that head turn was supposed to get my attention to look at him. When I wouldn't do that, he tried a new one that I heard works to get your date to find you more attractive. Hell, this guy hadn't even told me his name yet, but he was already trying sex-mojo on me. Take notes, guys and dolls, it works like this: if you're in close contact with someone, like say cuddling at the movies, or stuck on a freakin' bus; start syncing your breathing with your victim date. If the dinner and the movie didn't work, it's supposed to create more feelings of affection between you. ...So, I'm thinking, 'Sh!t, here we go again; another attempt to hijack my emotions.'
Just so happens though, I was a swimmer in High School and a Singer for the fun of it, I know full well how to control my breathing, and thus such a simple spell was broken by my not letting him match my breath rate. ...and at least, this was a short bus ride and I'd be reaching my stop soon.
Of course, that's when he tried a reach of his own- as well as his arm against mine, suddenly I felt a gentle prod. Were those the backs of his knuckles? What was he gonna ...Goddamn it! he's stroking my arm! With that, I adjusted my book by flexing my arms to push his hand away
Christ, he was a persistent little puto; did that give him the hint? No! with that push he tried a realignment of his own that brought his knee against mine!
Now, I was pissed, and with a growl instantly shoved him off a few inches. Did that work!?
Hell no, he actually tried to lean in and breath with me again.
Thank dog we were nearing my stop, and I used that as an excuse sit on the edge of my seat AWAY from him and ring the bell. He had the decency to get out of my way, when it was time for me to disembark, but he couldn't resist one more try at eye-contact and hitting me with puppy-dogs eyes.
Yeah, you dog, you're not humping my leg anymore.
Well, it was either put up with this or ride with my roommate... maybe I should get a haircut before my next ride on public transportation?
Why you may ask? Yes, You may, I permit it.
'Cause I still, and may never ever, own a car. Dis is: Da Vida Loca- please keep your hands and arms inside the ride at all times....
Which includes riding BART- the streetie shuttle, the human cattle car, or as I'm disappointed to report: the mobile meat market <sigh>
Hey, I've seen hook-ups happen on board trains and planes before, but those were willing participants wooing, and not male-macho-pressure pressed upon my person, phew. Chingo, who the Hell told these chauvinists that a solo female was fair game, huh!?
Happens to me all the time;
… We're a man and a woman alone on the same shift: we must have sex!
...We're a man and a woman alone in the same room: we must have sex!
...We're a man and a woman alone on the same train: we must have sex!
...We're a man and a woman alone on the same seat: we must have sex!
Argh! It's not like I'm trying even remotely to look attractive to the opposite sex. If the sexual opposite me isn't my boyfriend, then I'm not interested. Especially, when I'm riding to and from a project, like I've been doing lately. These last few times, I've been hit on- I was in dirty, baggy work clothes, wearing no make-up, and frankly, I probably didn't smell great; plus I was trying vainly to be preoccupied with sleeping or reading.
I suppose the only freakin' thing that identified me as a lady was my horsetail (that's what I call my ponytail, it's so long, it's more like a horse's than a pony's) ...so, there I was trying to sleep on the BART train, it's a long boring ride, made longer and even more boring by the fact, that the commute has been delayed by the damn Oakland Occupation, plus another small earthquake; and that has inspectors stopping to check the tracks every quarter mile. That's one reason why I was seated next to the window, so that I could rest my head, the other reason was that with fewer trains running, this one was getting overloaded with more passengers. I figured I'd make room for somebody else...
...Did it have to be a young, drunk young Indian salaryman? The first sign something was suspicious, was when he didn't just sit down beside me; he had to try and sit along side me [!] with a `thump` like he was to wake me. No, I wasn't fast asleep, just dozing; I never let myself be unawares of my surroundings, but I hoped I could avoid any interaction, if I could feign sleep till my destination. Fortunately, in my favor, the seats on the BART are all individual bucket type and not benches, meaning, he couldn't try cosying up for long.
So, a blessed twenty minutes of nap or so, passes and the salaryman can't do much more with an unconscious person without really getting intrusive; when curse the Occupy-curse the 99% and thier civil disobedience! The engineer has to make an announcement explaining that anyone making a transfer at the Oakland 19th station to Embarcadero would be subject to further delays because of the protests.
While I was going south, not north, fortunately that didn't really directly concern me, but the damage had been done; I'd lifted my head to hear the report better ...and the Indian took this an opportunity to speak, 'Are you alright?' he asked.
Poop, now I had to answer him, since that was a polite inquiry about my wellbeing. It seemed easy enough to explain that I was listening to the announcement because that was my transfer station, but I'd be headed south. Then damn it, a conversation was born.
Now wait a minute, how do you know- I mean. how did I know he was trying to hit on me?
Maybe he just wanted to talk, 'eh? Maybe he was just being friendly, okay?
How do I know; because he told me.
He tried polite.
He tried blunt.
Then, he even offered to pay me.
How much? Oh, shut up!
It couldn't have been much clearer than that.
...but that wasn't as bad as the next week. The next week, there was a guy who didn't say a word...
This was on the bus, late after dark and this time I had armed myself with a book so, it would be rude to interrupt my reading. Same situation, very crowded commute; me and my horsetail are sitting alone, the only difference was the guy was a Latino laborer. Shoot, he probably didn't even speak English, but no problemo, he just let his body do the talking. His technique was a little more practiced, his lean from his seat was with his upper body; he sat and quickly rested his shoulder against mine.
Crap. I hoped and prayed this had something to do with the press of the crowd on the bus, but soon he just started relaxing his whole arm against mine. Chingo.
Well, I still didn't have to acknowledge him, I had a book, couldn't he see that? Sure, he could see it, he was looking right at it; that head turn was supposed to get my attention to look at him. When I wouldn't do that, he tried a new one that I heard works to get your date to find you more attractive. Hell, this guy hadn't even told me his name yet, but he was already trying sex-mojo on me. Take notes, guys and dolls, it works like this: if you're in close contact with someone, like say cuddling at the movies, or stuck on a freakin' bus; start syncing your breathing with your victim date. If the dinner and the movie didn't work, it's supposed to create more feelings of affection between you. ...So, I'm thinking, 'Sh!t, here we go again; another attempt to hijack my emotions.'
Just so happens though, I was a swimmer in High School and a Singer for the fun of it, I know full well how to control my breathing, and thus such a simple spell was broken by my not letting him match my breath rate. ...and at least, this was a short bus ride and I'd be reaching my stop soon.
Of course, that's when he tried a reach of his own- as well as his arm against mine, suddenly I felt a gentle prod. Were those the backs of his knuckles? What was he gonna ...Goddamn it! he's stroking my arm! With that, I adjusted my book by flexing my arms to push his hand away
Christ, he was a persistent little puto; did that give him the hint? No! with that push he tried a realignment of his own that brought his knee against mine!
Now, I was pissed, and with a growl instantly shoved him off a few inches. Did that work!?
Hell no, he actually tried to lean in and breath with me again.
Thank dog we were nearing my stop, and I used that as an excuse sit on the edge of my seat AWAY from him and ring the bell. He had the decency to get out of my way, when it was time for me to disembark, but he couldn't resist one more try at eye-contact and hitting me with puppy-dogs eyes.
Yeah, you dog, you're not humping my leg anymore.
Well, it was either put up with this or ride with my roommate... maybe I should get a haircut before my next ride on public transportation?