Why I never talk about "my day"

So I get on the bus - amazingly it's right there when I arrive. It's the first and only piece of luck I'll have this day. The only other person at the stop is this guy talking on his mobile who enters and pays his fare and sits down whilst talking on his mobile. Skills. The bus has only a few people on it. I sit down near the rear door and about three seats - empty seats - in front of me is this scruffy guy - he looks like shit, an especially messy shit. And this scruffy man turns around in his seat - slowly - and starts gawping at me. Me or someone right behind me. I don't make eye contact, but I notice he's an alcoholic. He has the scruffy shit look you get when you're an alcoholic. I guess this is going to be an ugly day. Most days aren't ugly - they are hot Asian student day, goth girl day, or my personal favourite, big titty day, but today, unfortunately looked like it was going to turn into ugly day at the very first opportunity. That prompt bus arrival was the so-called balance to the ugliness that was being unleashed and it so wasn't worth it. And so this shit-looking scruffy alchy takes a long gawp at me - or at whatever in his blurred fucked-up vision was behind me - and it seemed like an age. And so I cast my gaze out the window and onto the autumnal hues of the deciduous trees of the suburban backdrop and turn my mind to the feijoa harvest and how long the weather will hold and half close my eyes and put my head down as if I were drifting away... finally he turns to face the front. Fuck I hate people who turn around and stare at others on the bus - they should have their eyes plucked out (plucked out and then stamped upon in case some fucking do-gooder tries to rescue them and get them sewn back in) - it is so rude to turn around and then gawp at others on the bus. They must lose the privilege of sight forever for that offence. And with this distasteful incident now marring the bus journey it looks like it's definitely going to be ugly day. What a shame. But let's think of raiding the neighbour's feijoa tree... making a crumble... have we got Granny Smiths?... I think we do... half and half so it's not too runny and then... FUCK this scruffy shit looking, alchy, gawping idiot is suddenly in the aisle and next to me. I can smell the alcohol. My eyes are still closed. I can smell him. And then I can feel the back of the seat move like he's leaning on it. Oh fuck please don't sit next to me you fucking crazy smelly gawping alchy. And then... Please not behind me. No, there's someone else in that slot. There might be a drunken murmur or a grunt of an exchange with whoever is behind me - perhaps the other passenger is grasping the back of the seat as they recoil from the stench? But he sits down behind that person - I can tell from the sound that is where he's sitting now. Why? Who the fuck knows? I don't think he talked to anyone or anything because he's on his own - he just got up - probably lurched up - and then sat further down the bus. Well... that's actually good.. that's less ugly. I don't have to look at his ugliness anymore should I happen to glance upwards. And it was at this point - a few moments after he relocated - that I actually thought, that I actually began contemplating, that maybe ugly day - because he was so bloody ugly and smelly - had peaked and maybe, just maybe, had ended. It has happened on the odd occasion. You think it's going to be one type of day - it ends up as another: it self-corrects and balances out all on the same day - rather than across the week as it usually does. It can happen... FUCK. The smell of alcohol - the stench, the back of the seat moves like someone's putting weight on it. God, NO! I'm still in my meditation/dozing position with my eyes shut and I can smell the reeking alcohol and BO from this fucking alchy idiot. Jesus fucking Christ, NO! And he starts gabbering. He's leaning right across my seat now and I'm trying to ignore this fu... FUCK this cunt just touched me. If I had a taser I would put it on whatever the maximum setting is and immediately jab it into this cunt's face. He's gabbering. Reluctantly - because now I am forced to interact with this drunken, alchy fuckwit - I have to open my eyes and look at him. He was saying something about his lighter. Yeah - right now would be good right in the face: Bam! FUCK OFF. He's saying "sorry, brother, for waking you..." Say sorry to Mr Taser. Bam! Like the line from the ad on TV: "Bam! and the dirt is gone". And you are fucking dirt, mate. You turn around and gawp at me like you want your eyes plucked out and now you drunkenly lurch over at me for no reason like you wanted a Taser in your face. Bam! and the alchy is gone! Right in that ugly fucking face. There's so much booze smell it might even set him on fire. Introducing new Bam! Max It sets fire to the dirt! "My lighter." I so don't want to hear this bullshit. I just want a Taser that will be guaranteed to set fire to things and I want it right now and I want it fully operational and I want it set to whatever maximum is and I want to use it on this fucking idiot right now. Right now. Bam! and I don't have to listen to this shit anymore. "My lighter is under your seat." W, W, W, Why? Why the fuck is your lighter under my seat? Why did you put your fucking lighter under my seat? Why would you do that? And I look down - not saying a word - and there's this white Bic lighter. And the fucking thing is directly between my feet. How the fuck did this cunt get it there?! OK, this is definitely ugly day now. I get it. I get it - it's ugly day, OK. Shouldn't have doubted it because this is what you get. It's deliberate. It's not an accident. David fucking Copperfield couldn't have done a better bloody job. He has been forced to interact with me - he doesn't actually have a choice about it either, not really. If he wants his blessed lighter back he has to talk to me because the thing is right between my feet. And I'm looking at it and as I slide it out into the aisle so he can pick it up I have to stop the urge to stomp on his hand. I want to stomp on it so badly. I wish I had hard soled shoes on - that way it would actually have the potential to do some damage - but I don't. I hope I would have had the sense to have kicked it out the door had we been stopped at that point. He gabbers something, but I'm not listening because my senses are overwhelmed by the stench and I just want to avoid touching him. It's got to be deliberate - these things aren't just accidents are they. Are they. I close my eyes as soon as I've established that he's going to pick it up and go back to pretending it isn't the ugly day that it so obviously is. And I should have kept my eyes shut because the next time I open them the bus is picking up what looks like the aged and alcoholic Ike and Tina Turner. The pair of them fuck around for a painfully long time before anyone gets on. Just drive off, mate. Just fucking drive off. Leave these drunken, ugly (did I mention they were both very ugly) fuckwits behind. They are wasting our fucking lives away. And so, eventually, after some sort of protracted conversation between them, Tina Turner finally decides to get on - and leaves Ike behind. Why am I looking!? What a fool - I shouldn't have opened my eyes to the ugliness. The man behind me - just after this incident - taps me on the shoulder. My immediate thought of where my Taser has got to abates only when he looks at Tina Turner and very sternly tells me, simply, "disgraceful." That's all he said. He must of been observing me watching these characters. That's the first - and unfortunately also the last - decent bit of social commentary I'd hear all day. Ironically enough this random person alerting me and casting judgement upon the ugliness of the day actually made the day slightly less ugly. And so as I alighted and made my way down K' Rd I searched for signs of a day less ugly. There was still hope: there were girls about, it was too early for the disgusting, unholy tranny freaks to begin parading their Godless souls along the street as they do, and it was about the right temperature for big titty day to really mean something if it was on - clothes-wise, you know. Please let it be on. And no beggars yet either, no ugly, glue-sniffing, pan-handling beggars at this stage either. No trannies, no beggars; not so bad. Well, two ugly incidents might have cancelled it all out... but not so bad is not good and there's still no-one really doing it for me on the old Karangahape Road today. Nothing really there. Very bland. And as I approached the Queen Street corner - outside Whitcoulls - I'm keeping a steady pace, a normal walking pace consistent with everyone else, and up ahead is a guy whose not quite going as fast and he's not quite holding his line. He's not dawdling though, but it's just slightly... he's not quite... you know? I can spot these people now - these random pedestrians - they're like the equivalent of a distracted driver who is weaving a bit across the lanes and isn't concentrating and those fuckwits who can't keep their speed constant. You know? You know the type. More likely to be teenagers and Chinese, but not strictly. But usually. These people are fuckwits. I've learned to steer well clear of them - as if they were dangerous drivers on the road. They are prone to stop without warning - and if teenagers - suddenly take steps backwards. They change direction, they don't seem to know where they are going - or what they are doing and these people have zero peripheral vision and are unaware of other pedestrians. The only thing you can do is to get ahead of them. It's the only option open, because slowing down to their pace and watching these fuckwits be fuckwits in front of you is just too damn painful. So the only thing to do now this fuckwit has been assessed as the public nuisance he is to speed up and overtake and let their random wandering interfere with some other poor bastard who isn't as aware. But now we are heading up to the lights and there's this traffic island we have to get to and there's a fence along the side to herd the pedestrians down to the zebra crossing and it narrows and this fuckwit is all over the show. And I'm about to pass him just before the crossing - where the yellow buttons are on the footpath. And then - at the exact point I'm about to let out a sigh of relief as I pass him - this moron just suddenly stops. He's right next to me and he just stops, dead. And this big-arse Holden station wagon drives right through the zebra crossing without slowing down and almost collects me. The fucking moron has stopped at a zebra crossing - on the very busy pedestrian corner of K fucking Road and Queen Street - to let this dickless shitbag in his fucking cockmobile speed through. From the angle this cunt stopped at the other cunt in his car probably didn't see me either as I came past. I've had - and seen - a few near misses on this corner due to drivers being cock-smoking, arrogant arseholes and even cyclists being fucking cunt-wipes, but I've never before witnessed a pedestrian reciprocate the idiocy. It's a zebra crossing you fucking cock. Cocks. Both of you. It's the cunt in the car who has to stop. But I can just imagine that this insipid little fuckwit gimp (he must have been 18-25) was probably intimidated into giving the right of way to the more aggressive fuckwit cock in the wagon and this went down in a split second when he looked at him. Neither knew - or of course cared - that another pedestrian was coming alongside and was actually crossing at that point. Fucking cock-smoking arsehole cunt-wiping shitbags - the both of them. I reached out - instinctively and as I have done so before at that very intersection - to hit the wagon, but it was moving so fast it just got around the corner before I could give it a swipe. And as for giving things a thwack: that mindless little cock, that fucking idiot who almost got me run down through his incompetence - his manifest incompetence as a human being, not just as a pedestrian - my immediate thought was to brandish my heavy silver cane and thrash the lad with it. Thrash him like there weren't any cameras around: I want to see his blood splattered on that crossing, I want to knock his teeth out and see them rolling like fucking dice all over that crossing and I want to hear the crack of his jawbone splitting and I want to hear it echo loudly around the buildings as I thrash this cunt who almost fucking killed me to an inch of his fucking... But I don't have a silver cane, or a Taser. I've got a stupid fucking cell phone that's probably older than him, a case in which I keep my glasses, a small leather wallet containing less money than what is in the average pan-handler's solvent-encrusted begging beanie - and a fucking bus ticket. That's not exactly an intimidating or effective arsenal is it? So instead I just walk calmly to the traffic island without saying anything. That moron doesn't say anything either, probably because he's too fucking thick to have even realised what just happened. He's like the kid who fell off and killed himself at the atrium in the Queen Street theatres, like the kid who stood up on the open deck bus and got killed going under that bridge on the motorway - he's in the same class, only the consequences from his Darwinian moments are borne by others. So I come to a stand at the lights and then I turn and I make an effort to remember that idiot's face. And like a real fucking idiot it's completely bloody forgettable, but ugly nonetheless. Just another ugly idiot on another ugly day.