Every single morning at the MRT station, I swear to god I feel like I am gearing up for the Super Bowl or some Rugby World Cup final. KNN, I am just a tired working adult trying to commute in peace, but the moment the cabin doors slide open, I am forced to play a full-contact sport just to survive. Why? Because of these relentless, unstoppable, kiasu aunties who treat the MRT doors like the gates of heaven.
You all know exactly what I am talking about. You are standing there behind the yellow line, waiting for the train to stop. You position yourself perfectly at the side, respecting the arrows on the floor, waiting for the alighting passengers to clear. But then you look to your left and right. The Auntie Battalion has arrived.
These are not your sweet, harmless grandmas. These are seasoned combat veterans armed with overflowing NTUC FairPrice plastic bags, giant umbrellas that act as javelins, and those deadly metal pull-trolleys specifically designed to snap your Achilles tendon in half. The chime goes off. The doors are about to open. Do they wait for people to exit? Pfft. Dream on.
The split second the glass doors part, it is pure, unadulterated American football. I literally have to bend my knees, drop my center of gravity, tuck my elbows in, and brace for impact like an NFL linebacker. Because if I don’t, I will get absolutely steamrolled by a 60-year-old woman charging in to secure that one empty reserved seat at the corner. They don’t walk; they blitz. They just lower their shoulders and push forward, completely ignoring the basic laws of physics and human decency.
Today was the absolute limit. I was trying to exit the train at interchange. The doors open, and before I can even take a single step forward to alight, a wall of permed hair and floral blouses just tackles into me. No “excuse me,” no giving way. Just pure forward momentum. I had to plant my feet and literally block them like an offensive tackle just so I wouldn’t get pushed backward into the cabin. It’s like playing rugby, except my opponents don’t wear helmets, and if I push back too hard, STOMP will have a field day making me the villain of the week.
Walao eh, is it so hard to just wait five seconds?! The train is not going to leave without you if you just let people alight first! The reserved seat is not a million-dollar touchdown prize! It is honestly exhausting. I am tapping my EZ-Link card to get to work, not to sign up for the NFL draft. KNN, next time I am going to buy American football shoulder pads and a helmet just to take the North-South line. See who bounce off who then.