Closing Pandora's Box

Today was a meh day. Just one of those days. My mind was all over the place, wanting to visit places I didn’t want it to go, worrying about people; those who I hadn’t heard from in weeks, and those that were ill. People tell me to worry less and I just roll my eyes because worrying is what I do.  It was in this confuddlidified state of mind I got on the bus and made my way to university this morning. You know when you just want to get from A to B, do what you have to do at B, and just come home without drama or anything out of the ordinary? Yeah I wanted today to be like that. But what a day it was going to be.

“Stop looking at me bruv,” an annoyed voice said at the back of the bus. I was sitting on the top deck, in my seat (the one I always sit in) reading Where does it hurt¹ that Pink recommended to me. I realised I had read the same sentence about Molly twice.

“I said stop looking at me! And don’t you dare lift your hands up at me.”

No reply.

“Bruv, I’m telling you, if you don’t put your hand down, I’m gonna f*** you up proper.” What is wrong with kids? I thought to myself, why can’t you just shut up and let me read about Molly and her addiction?

“Are you deaf or something? This is the last time I’m telling ya. Put  your hand down, and don’t look at me.” The other person who was looking and had his hand up didn’t reply. I got a weird mental image of a little child with no face sitting there at the back, with his hand up waiting to be granted permission to speak so they could reply back to the other angry voice. Put your hand down and stop looking at him you dumbass, I thought.

That’s when we heard it, an extremely loud thud of something hitting against the window. The something in question was a head. Everyone turned around. The fight had begun. Obscene words mixed with punches  were thrown to and fro, some hitting their targets while others missing. A man got up and tried to restrain the two boys as another ran down the stairs to call the driver. The bus suddenly pulled up on the side of the road and the driver signalled to a passing by police car. Next thing I know is, police are taking my details as a ‘potential witness’. What am I going to tell them? I was too busy engrossed in the lesson Molly, an elderly lady addicted to heroin was giving to a doctor. The driver told us the  bus wasn’t going to be going anywhere soon and so we should all change. Great. I couldn’t be bothered to wait for another bus so enjoyed a wet, rain-filled half hour walk to university.

University today was boring. I spent it alone on level 6 AKA the psychiatric level, in a teaching room reading journals. NSS² as one of my friends calls it, had finally begun. Reading journals, research papers and reviews is extremely boring, time consuming, and mong-out-ing³. If you don’t know what one looks like or what it contains, you can download a couple by clicking here, here, and here. The 3 I have linked to are of 9 I read today relating to my research project titled, ‘Lysophospholipid induced reactive oxygen species production in microglia’. It took me a good few days to decipher what that meant, let alone start investigating it. No wonder this semester is called NSS. Anyway, by 4pm I had had enough. My brain couldn’t take any more torture so I decided to call it a day and get back home. That’s when incident number 2 happened.

It had been raining pretty much all day and now it was raining heavily. I was standing at the bus stop, hoodless, waiting for the bus to come. The bus shelter was packed with people trying to get away from the rain. A pregnant Asian lady walked up to the middle-aged white guy who was sitting on the seat smoking a cigarette and drinking beer, and asked if she could sit down. “Don’t tell me what to do in MY own country,” he replied giving her a disgusting look. He didn’t stop there but went on and on and on about tax-payers money being stolen by 'Pakis who do nothing but sit at home and live off benefits’. I wonder how long he had been waiting to let it out his frustration and hate regarding ‘Pakis’?

My bus came so I gave the man one last look, prayed for a safe and quiet journey home and got on. On reaching the bus station I had an ‘inviting fly moment’ when I discovered Mr Racist was there. How the hell did he get here so quickly? He was sitting on the floor surrounded by a few community support officers and on closer observation I noticed he was hurt. There was blood all over his face coming from a cut on his left cheek. Why is it all the racist guys I have met have an injury on their face, usually a scar and this time a cut? In my bag I always keep a first aid kit, consisting of a few sterile wipes, some plasters and paracetamol. Was it worth me wasting my stuff on a guy who probably had nothing nice to say to me? I walked over, gave him some water to drink, cleaned his blood smeared face with a moist wipe and put a plaster on his cut. Then I finally walked home.

*****

I would like to take this opportunity to acknowledge an award given to me by the ever so lovely Kamila who is the amazing owner of Basket of Dreams. Though there are rules attached to this award, I wish to sincerely apologise that I am in a bit of a rush and due to a lack of time, cannot therefore fulfil them. =( *hangs head in shame* Forgive me Kamila!

With that, I wish you all have a restful and enjoyable weekend! :)

PS
I wrote this is a bit of a hurry so please excuse any spelling and or grammatical mistakes.

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Title: Bad Day – Daniel Powter
¹Where does it hurt? – Max Pemberton
²NSS – abbreviation for ‘No social semester’ referring to the lack of social life I will have this semester due to the amount of work.
³Monged – adjective, normally used to describe one that is stoned. I use it to define a feeling, that is abnormal such as feeling ill, tired, bored etc etc.
Photograph of a random London bus was taken from here
Photograph of moist wipe taken from here