When I was yelling at the ticket inspectors I had no idea what these heroes are called. On Melbourne public transport you don’t have a ticket, you have a Myki card, which is a ticket you don’t buy from a human. Imagine buying a ticket from some piece of shit human being, imagine every train station being staffed by disgusting human flesh. Imagine getting on a tram and some stinking maggot approaches you, singing and smiling, and kindly asks you which slip of paper you need for your journey. It’s sickening to think that Melbourne’s public transport system was once overrun and infested and teeming with nice people in uniform whose only job was to help deliver you safely to your destination. Imagine how fucking soft people must have been. We were like maggots. We walked into the local branch of our bank and presented our little book to a teller and we made our deposits and transacted a withdrawal. Like the worst scum who ever existed we smiled and thanked each other. Pathetic, we dragge
Comments
Post a Comment