Some give speeches with their flies undone. Others wear mismatched socks. I perform lap dances on unsuspecting women using public transport.
Inadvertently, of course.
It happened when I was 17 and returning home from school, weighed down by a bag that was bursting at the seams.
It must have been a pot-hole or the driver swerving to avoid a jaywalker, for whatever reason, the bus lurched and the jolt sent me sprawling across the laps of two middle-aged women.
For a split second, two pairs of eyes locked into mine. And then out of nowhere, their arms hit out at me, their mouths hurled abuse. I must have been heavy -- all 70 kilos of me.
I flailed about for support, but couldn't get up immediately, burdened down by the schoolbag on my back.
Eventually, I broke free and escaped to the back of the bus, unable to stem the stream of abuse that still poured from their lips.
And which part of all this embarrassed me the most? The fact that some passengers thought I did it deliberately.
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