The Perfect Storm – Part II: MTR Murder

bleaahh

I’m on the verge of tears by the time I reach the platform. I’m trying to listen to the new Cantopop Hits of the 80’s & 90’s CD, but every Wong, Ip and Lee is buzzing in my ear…yelling into phones, bellowing at each other or munching sausage bread like a jackal with a mouth full of sap.

Dudley Dawson shows off his latest acquisition…The Very Best of Cantopop Volume 1. The whole album has a clear, crisp sound and a new sheen of consummate pedestrianism that really gives the songs a big boost.

I make my way to the very end of the platform because there’s fewer people there. In Hong Kong, people are so damn lazy they’d rather pile into the mid section of the train with a whole smorgasbord of dipshittery, than walk another 30 seconds for a more comfortable ride.

Dudley Dawson attempts to drown out the sound of a hundred boorish phone calls.

When I get to the end of the platform, I put on my dark protective sunglasses. There’s a moment of sheer panic when the train arrives and I realize the last car is jam packed. I hit the volume controls, turn up the Cantopop and hope for the best. The doors open and half the people empty out. Relief washes over me in an awesome wave. There’s even seats available, so I take one.

…what the…

psssssssssss

…fuck…??

Out of the corner of my eye I see two middle aged, dreary looking women approaching from the left. They’ve seen the empty seat next to me and both make a play for it, but a drearier, older woman swoops from the right and beats them both. She thuds down, plastic bags full of cabbage and radish swinging from each arm. She’s on the phone trying to explain something to someone. She’s loud. She’s frantic. Where the fuck did she get all that cabbage and radish at this time of morning?

I like to take out a pencil and a notepad in situations like this, lean forward, nod along to the loud, rude, annoying conversation I’m being assaulted with and jot down notes. Should we be getting all this down, dude?  Is any of this gonna be on the test?? And he looks at me like I’m the bad guy!

Yell, yell, yell, scream, scream, scream. I’m a thoughtless lax slob who refuses social responsibility because that kind of self discipline’s just too hard. It’s much easier to do what everyone else does and just do what I want, yell when I want, scream when I want…and then blame you if you’ve got a problem with it.

Mercifully, the cabbage & radish woman ends her phone conversation pretty quickly and I ease back the volume on my Cantopop compilation. I do keep half an eye on her though, because I know what’s coming. Sure enough, there it is. She can’t sit still…she whips the phone out and I watch her dim sum fingers dial 6 numbers in a row, desperately trying to get someone on the phone…anyone. But she can’t do it. Nobodies answering. I focus on the book in my hand and start to read.

…tap…tap…tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap…

What in fuck is that tapping noise? I look to my right and the old woman’s tapping the living shit out of an ipad. She’s playing Candy Crush or something. I can’t not hear it. I can’t not see it out the corner of my eye. Opposite me there’s a plain looking woman doing her makeup. It’s mildly disgusting watching her smear paste around her gaping eyeballs while she contorts her sallow face in a small pocket mirror. I get a good look up her nostrils. Fuck. I look away. The guy on my left is playing Candy Crush. He looks totally focused, completely engrossed and highly challenged. The man next to him is holding two phones. He’s looking into one and yelling into the other. Opposite him, there’s a thick-set woman unconscious…mouth wide open, head titled back like a sideshow clown ready for a ping pong ball. The man next to her keeps screeching “wai” into his phone over and over again. He’s horrific.

“Why you look at me? Not your business! Mind your business while I’m add my makeup on…

…is none of your business…*scowl scowl scowl*…

…you fuck…you stupid…your problem…mind your business you stupid fucker fuck you go to hell….” – Listen you self-absorbed cretin….this is NOT rocket science. It’s NOT complicated. If you’re so staggeringly oblivious that you think it’s OK to sit directly opposite me making a public spectacle of yourself…prepare to be stared at…expect to be laughed at…and count on being photographed and made an example of on Hong Kong Sucks. Don’t look at me like I’m the bad guy. I’m the one sitting here keeping myself to myself. You’re the moron doing your toiletries on a public train. 

Winnie Chan attempts to make herself less ordinary…in her private bathroom…

Hong Kong fast pace OK…Hong Konger must use the time OK…not your business OK

Pull a hat down over your face or something, fucking hell.

I need space. I give up my seat and head to the standing area at the very end of the train. There’s a woman in the corner trimming her nails and dropping the clippings at her feet. I manage to make eye-contact. There’s no sign of embarrassment though…she couldn’t look more indifferent if she tried. Very Hong Kong. In the other corner there’s a man on his phone…monumental in volume. He’s slapping a rolled up newspaper on the wall to emphasize whatever it is he’s screaming about. My ears! The Cantopop does nothing!

These are the toe and finger nails I collected in a single morning commute last week. I’ll be presenting them to Carrie Lam at a luncheon this Thursday.

Make yourself at home, man.

…what the…ffffuck…???

Wont that be a nice surprise for the janitor 😉

Just a regular guy

I look down at my feet…someone’s spilled a drink. Oh wait a minute is that…it is. A mainland women’s helping her mewling cabbage urinate into an empty bottle of Watson’s water. There’s too much urine and not enough bottle. It’s textbook play from the mainlander though. She thinks that’s what you do. The girl next to me is slobbering all over a piece of bread still in its plastic bag. Saliva strands trail from her mouth to the plastic. I can hear her chewing. She’s watching something inane on her phone with the sound turned up.

Are you talking to me? Are you talking to me? What’s that? You’re on the phone? Sounds like you’re talking to me. Are you talking to me? I can hear you three carriages down. Who the fuck are you talking to?

I slowly take the lighter fluid from my pocket. I know what I have to do. Listen you fuckers, you screwheads. Here’s a man who will not take it anymore. A man who’ll stand up against the scum, the cunts, the dogs, the filth, the shit. The idea has been growing in my brain for some time. It’s time to wash away the garbage and trash…

…there’s a flash, then screams a couple of carriages down. I smell smoke…burning. Somebody down there has passed the point of no return. I can just make out a figure. He’s on fire. They’re all on fire. It’s pandemonium. I slip the lighter fluid back into my pocket and take out my phone…

It’s like watching a train smash or something

Say cheese……..cheeeeeeze that’s hot!!!!!!!!!!!

This post brought to you by…

The MTR Corporation Logic and Fair Practice Division…

…Apple’s new Peeping Sanjay app…

…hand luggage…

…breakfast menus at 11:03am…

…Rowdy Roddy Piper…

…Central, Hong Kong…

…the yellow jacket…

…check-in luggage…

…having a great time with friends…

…in picturesque settings…

…the kooky umbrella movement…

…fair play for parallel traders…

…the Dudley Dawson Division of Logic and Fair Play…make a public spectacle of yourself…expect your public spectacle to be documented.

…and making reservations at Cafe de Coral.

Later dudes!