Not the first time already.
I was molested on the bus yesterday. Again.
Not that I felt very violated or anything, and I wasn’t even as skimpily dressed as usual. It’s definitely much less offensive than what any girl gets subjected to on an average Thursday night at Phuture. I was leaning against the window on the right side of the bus, nodding off, when I felt something rubbing at my waist. The first thing that came to mind was maybe a scrap piece of wood or metal that I always see on the bus so i ignored it. Then I realised that I wasn’t moving, but that ‘thing’ was. When I turned to find out what it was, I saw a glimpse of a hand retreating at the space between the seat and the interior of the bus. From the corner of my eye, I saw a man sitting very close behind me.
He then put both his hands on the handle of the seat, as if telling me that his hands were not straying anywhere. I was almost 60% sure, but I chose not to say anything then and hoped that was it. A minute later I felt the stroking again. I saw the hand again and this time, I turned around, stared into his eyes, and said “What do you think you’re doing?”, loud enough for the entire back half of the bus to hear. All eyes, male, turned on him (not that I felt very secure though there were at least 6 men around me). He raised his hands in defense and said “Accident! Accident!”. “Accident?” I articulated. “You better watch what you’re doing, I tell you.” At this point, he pressed the bell, anxious to get off the bus. That was the 40% I needed.
I didn’t do anything drastic. What was the point? I wonder if it was the extra fat I had around my waist that reminded him of his mother and her delicious curries back home, or if he was missing his wife. But surely he must have succeeded n the past, or he wouldn’t have been so daring now. Just don’t let me see him again. Or I swear I’m pulling out my garden pliers.
If only mace were legal in SG. Maybe I should put some chilli oil in a canister spray and hide it in my bra.