It is 6:35 in the morning and you are getting on your usual bus. Upon touching in, you turn briefly to make double-tripe-quadruple sure that you are not being an "absolute asshole" by taking the seat at the front. Being polite? Check. Minding your own business? Check. Perfect. No problem.
Several rows behind you, there is a young toddler with his screen-addicted mother. She is taking up three seats with her petite body and one small bag. Her child is dominating two. Just to clarify, the bus is fairly full; there are quite a few people standing near the doors. Now, you are not the kind of person that interferes, but a deep flash of frustration runs through your mind.
At this point, the little boy seems to be making himself at home as he runs around the bus, carelessly smacking all the seats as he squeals at the top of his lungs (and remember, it is 6:35 am). Are you secretly blaming the child? Yes, a little. But the mother! Forty pairs of angry eyeballs are directed at her idle complexion like lasers. They glare on, restless, eager for revenge, yours included.
Sometimes you do visit Facebook in your spare time, socialising with your friends. But this woman is not using her spare time, and is nowhere near being sociable. Wouldn't she gladly avoid creating dozens of arch-enemies in the space of a few minutes? You sigh. Only one more stop to go. 6:38. 6:39. You stare at the doors, wishing for them to open sooner.
Once finally exposed to the slightly fresher air outside, you jog a little to catch your next form of transport. Another bus. Another crowd. Another young child screaming.
