Throwaway account because my colleagues definitely know my main, but I need to get this off my chest. I know some of you are going to call me a menace, but honestly, I don’t care.
We all know the exact type of auntie I’m talking about. The train doors open, the yellow line is right there, and according to basic human decency and SMRT’s 20-year-old campaign, you are supposed to let people alight first. But no. These gan chiong aunties will position themselves like Olympic rugby players, eyes locked onto the empty corner seat, ready to storm the cabin the millisecond there’s a 10cm gap in the door.
I used to be like every other polite Singaporean—bo biah, just sway my body out of the way, tsk under my breath, and let them pass. But a few months ago, after a sibei jialat day at work where my boss threw me under the bus, I was stepping off the East-West Line at City Hall. This auntie, armed with a giant FairPrice plastic bag and zero situational awareness, tried to charge straight through me like a line backer.
Instead of dodging, I just locked my shoulder, hardened my core, and walked straight ahead.
BOOM.
The impact was glorious. She bounced straight off me, her plastic bag rustled aggressively, and she let out this loud, dramatic “AYO!” She looked at me like I just slaughtered her pet cat. I didn’t even look back. I just walked off, and let me tell you, the rush of dopamine was better than a double shot of espresso.
Since then, it has officially become my peak hour hobby. I don’t go out of my way to actively hunt them down—I’m not a psychopath. But if I am alighting the train, and I see you trying to dash inside before the incoming passengers have even crossed the threshold? I will not move an inch. In fact, I will subtly tilt my shoulder forward to maximize contact.
I am 188cm tall. I do heavy lifting and high-volume walking every single day. My body composition is basically solid mass. When these 150cm aunties hit me, it’s like a Honda Civic crashing into a concrete barrier. They always bounce off, lose their balance for a split second, and give me the ultimate death stare.
And before the strawberry generation starts crying in the comments about “respecting your elders”—respect is a two-way street, bro. If you have the leg power to sprint past pregnant ladies and school kids just to chop a seat, you have the bone density to take a shoulder check from me. Why should everyone cater to their absolute lack of civic consciousness? They think the world revolves around them just because they hold a Pioneer Generation card.
Consider it a public service. I am single-handedly teaching them basic train etiquette via physics and kinetic energy.
My hobby, problem? If you don’t like it, wait for me to alight first next time.