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Public transport is like a fashion runway for questionable wardrobe choices. I saw a guy the other day wearing socks with sandals and a fanny pack. I didn't know whether to give him a high-five for embracing comfort or recommend a stylist. And why does everyone decide it's okay to bring their entire life onto the bus? It's like Mary Poppins meets hoarders. There's a lady with a plant, a guy with a guitar, and someone with a pet iguana. I just want to get from point A to B, not join a traveling circus.
You know what would be a game-changer? Public transport dress codes. Imagine a world where people have to pass a fashion police checkpoint before boarding. No pajamas, no socks with sandals, and definitely no fanny packs unless it's 1987.
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You ever notice that public transport turns everyone into an involuntary stand-up comedian? You're just sitting there, and suddenly the guy next to you decides it's the perfect time to practice his tight five-minute set. Buddy, I just wanted to read my book in peace, not hear your detailed analysis of the weather or your conspiracy theory about why pigeons are government spies. And then there's the unsolicited advice. The other day, a stranger gave me advice on how to live a healthier life. I didn't ask for it! Apparently, I need to eat more kale and do yoga every morning. I appreciate the concern, but if I wanted life advice from strangers, I'd start a podcast.
Oh, and don't get me started on the people who want to have deep philosophical conversations at 8 AM. Dude, I can barely comprehend my existence until I've had my second cup of coffee. Let's save the profound discussions for a more reasonable hour, like never.
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Hey, everybody! So, I recently had the pleasure of taking public transport. Pleasure, my friends, is a term I use very loosely here. You know, they call it "public transport," but I feel like it should be renamed to "The Great Human Sardine Can Experience." I swear, the bus I was on was so crowded, I felt like I was in the middle of a Flash Mob that nobody wanted to be a part of. And why do they insist on making the seats so tiny? It's like they're designed for people with the physique of a garden gnome. I'm 6 feet tall; my knees are doing yoga in there, trying to find some space!
I saw a sign on the bus that said, "Please give up your seat for the elderly and pregnant." I get it, and I want to be a good person, but honestly, if you're pregnant and riding this bus, you've already given up on a comfortable life.
And let's talk about the smell. It's like a weird potpourri of regret and unfulfilled dreams. I feel like I need to carry a scented candle with me just to survive the olfactory assault.
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Taking public transport is like entering a time machine where the laws of time and space cease to exist. You check the schedule, and it says the bus will arrive at 3:15 PM. So, you show up at 3:14 PM, feeling like a responsible adult. But, lo and behold, the bus is already gone! I don't know what kind of time warp magic they're working with, but it's like they have a secret agenda to teach us all a lesson about punctuality. The bus arrives when it wants to arrive, and if you're not there to witness its majestic entrance, tough luck. I'm convinced bus schedules are just a cruel joke the universe plays on us to keep us humble.
And don't even get me started on the concept of "bus time." "Oh, it's just around the corner." Sure, Karen, just like how I'm "just around the corner" from winning the lottery.
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