October 18, 2005

Keep your warm buns to yourself, please.

I am a regular (twice daily) user of public transportation. Being in Seattle, I'm lucky that I've got access to a really good transit system (and one that runs partially on bio-diesel, no less).

I quite like the bus: it's regular, it's much much better than spending my life savings/beer money on gas that's so expensive it makes me hyperventilate, I don't have to park my bus, and my dog can ride with me. All these are good things.

But I have one major problem with riding the buses -- it's the invisible menace that has increasingly become a source of some anxiety for me each and every time I lower myself into one of the dozens of map-pattern upholstered buckets.

Warm seats.

I hate them. There's something so creepy and gross about sitting down on a bus in the morning and feeling the heat from someone else's ass radiate into your pants until your butt is, in a sense, being heated by the left-behind energy waste of some stranger's derrierre. Call me crazy, but it just seems dirty... if there's heat left behind, there must be germs. Same concept as smells.

If you can smell something, that means there are tiny particles of that something in the air that are going into your nose and mouth. So if your roommate is the chili-eating kind, DO NOT under any circumstances use the restroom within 30 minutes of their exit or you'll be ingesting whatever is left stinking the air up.

Same goes, I think, for hot seats on busses.

It's just that my butt-heat is personal, you know? And I don't need any of yours, thanks.

No comments: