- There are not dragons at the back of the bus. You will not be eaten or flambéed if you stand in the aisle between the rear seats. Stop staring dispassionately ahead while people, just as desperate to get home as you are, stand in the cold as the driver feebly begs “folks, please move back”. It is not a stand-off. Just because you are concentrating furiously on dismissing your surroundings, it doesn’t make those left behind at the bus-stop any less human (or and less victims of your dickishness).
- This is how you sit on a bus where there are two unoccupied seats. This picture was taken in England and is not an exception, it is how civilised people sit in a way that makes the outside seat available. How DARE you sit on the outside to dissuade people from sitting down? How DARE you sigh and tut and generally make a fuss if someone says “excuse me”. EXCUSE YOU, PRICK.
There were riots throughout England a few months after this picture was taken, but at least they know how to sit on a bus. And unless your shopping bag has a Metropass, I don’t want to see it sitting beside you.
- Don’t stand in the middle of the aisle in a passive-aggressive stance like the big “I Am” and then bitch and complain because someone barged into you, intentionally or otherwise. You are not the gatekeeper of the rear doors, you are a self-important pussy that should stand aside or walk and not demand an interaction from everyone that needs to pass without wanting to look at your gormless face.
- Learn to queue. If someone is stood waiting at the bus-stop, stand behind or beside them (don’t block the [Am:E] sidewalk [Br:E] pavement). Exception: If you are stood in the bus shelter, you are not in-line. I assume the reason it is called a line-up over here is because, like a line-up in the UK (i.e. an identity parade), there’s always at least one criminal.
- Stop using the rear doors after a snow storm when snow banks have accumulated, dummy. Don’t you remember the snow banks being there when you boarded 10 minutes ago? Or were you too busy staring passively into your phone’s display of your Facebook timeline filled with videos of singing goats and photos of girls’ cleavages hanging like meat in a butcher’s window suspended in time, forever. Yes, girls. Your tits. On a hard-drive in a Facebook data centre in Oregon. Forever. You can delete them from the album, but they’re still stored. Forever.
- Did you just fully watch your stupid valley-girl girlfriend alight and jam the rear doors into a snowbank? Did you watch how the driver got up, walked outside the bus to the doors and try to close them, fail and return to the driver’s sear? If so, why scream “Errrr, like, what the f**k?” when the lights go out because he is clearly restarting the engine to reset the doors?
Is it because you were taking a “selfie” at an angle that happens to cause the curvature of your cellphone’s camera lens at the frame to exaggerate the size of your tits? Thought so.
- Each time you under-pay your fare by dropping a fist-full of low value coins into the fare box or you come up with some pitiful excuse not to pay that the driver can’t be arsed to argue with, you are stealing from everyone on that bus. Not that you give a f**k.
I’m done now.