Drops of Jupiter (A Brand of Enema)

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As you may have already guessed, this entry is all about trains.  This entry runs on two beliefs:

  1. That “enema” is a good metaphor for the Metro Rail Transit (MRT), and;
  2. If a man makes a negative remark (even in passing) about the opposite sex, he is automatically a “sexist chauvinist pig.”

The MRT is the most convenient way for me to get anywhere: by “anywhere,” I mean stations between North Avenue and Shaw.  In a previous entry, I described the MRT as such:

The Metro Rail Transit, or what I call the mechanical enema of Manila’s public transport system, is meant for people who are already familiar with it.  The MRT is one fast piece of shit, but it’s still pretty much a piece of shit when it comes to passenger comfort and convenience.

Let’s start with Point #1.  Me and my new workmates were discussing the possibility of writing about enemas awhile back, then it hit me: I hit the nail right on the head when I described the MRT as “enema.”  The MRT was supposed to cleanse the congested bowels (metaphorically) of the Metro Manila transport system, but it effectively became the bowels (figuratively) of the Metro Manila transport system.  It’s mechanical enema: it’s hard going in, and it’s a bit hard going out.  Holding it in is different from expelling it.  To get in is torture: to get out is relief.

Not that I’ve had an enema before, but this feeling was explained very thoroughly and in graphic detail by my dad, who had an enema before his urologist examined his prostate.  No offense, Dad.

*     *     *

Which brings me to Point #2: any critique, constructive or otherwise, will be perceived of by a closed-minded feminist bitch (not beeyotch, not biatch, I definitely mean “bitch”) that I’m an enemy to womynkind.  What I observed is that a crowded cab in the MRT is not necessarily caused by the volume of passengers, but ladies cramming themselves into the rear passenger cabs.

The problem is rather obvious at this point: the front cabs of the MRT are designated for the elderly, children, and female passengers.  We male passengers ride at the back cabs.  An elementary school analogy would suffice: woman = front, man = back.  Now before you start wrongfully accusing me of being a deluded civil rights activist who demands equal opportunity for marginalized men, this is a simple issue of comfort.  The other day, I was crammed into the MRT (as usual) when this woman beside me started muttering about how crowded it was and why the men weren’t yielding their seat to her.

Like… yeah, right.  The back cabs of an MRT, my lady friends, are a man’s world.  This is where sexist and gay-sounding figures of speech like, “Man-to-man” and “It’s a man thing” apply.  Chivalry died with Launcelot and Guenevere.  Deal with it, and go ride out front.

“Chauvinist sexist pig?”  Well, oink to you too.

2 comments on “Drops of Jupiter (A Brand of Enema)”

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