Salty Rants

Public Transport, or should I say, Preventable Torture?

It's not that I hate public transport. No really, I don't. It's just that, If I had to travel from point A to B and got to choose between a car and a bus, I'd go with the former, for a number of reasons. It's less crowded, more comfortable, less smelly...but above of all, I can rest assured that I didn't catch either head lice or Ebola somewhere during my trip.

"But public transport is more efficient!" you scream, wielding your red ATAC card like a blade. The embedded golden chip catches a stream of light, casting a heavenly spotlight upon me.

I nod, shielding my eyes with a hand. You're right, to a certain extent. I mean, those of you who live in an overcrowded city like Rome—where finding a parking space in the centre is like finding a fuck to give for the upcoming math test worth 25% of your semester grade—will understand.

The traffic lights change colour every three seconds or every ten minutes (there's no in between), there's always a goddamn old lady with a death wish that crosses the road in the middle of a river of cars, and every driver, including yourself, has an outstanding ability to blow a fuse faster than I can yell 'potato'. But that's a rant for a different time—I have to stay on track. Or should I say...on road? On the road? You know what I mean.

So public transport here in Rome is both a blessing and a curse. It's a blessing because you have a wide range of public transport vehicles to choose from.

"Can I have some salt with my fries?" you ask, popping one of those delicious goodies into your mouth. I bob my head with a smile on my face—it's about time you asked. I pull out a salt-shaker from my bag and begin to douse your fries with sodium chloride:

Want to travel the old-fashioned way, in a rectangular box of metal older than Christ himself, which turns into a toasty oven in the summer?

Then ride the tram, also known as the 'can of sardines' by the local folk. During peak hour, hone your fighting skills by punching your way through to the entrance. Once you're successfully inside, you'll be able to ride most of the way with your cheek pressed up against the window and a bulge pressed up against your lower back. Liven up, at least there are some good views!

Hate the idea of having to stop 30 times—turning an half-an-hour journey into an hour-and-a-half journey—on your way to the centre of the city?

Catch the bus! The drivers are known for slamming the brakes suddenly and constantly—don't even think about carrying that McShake with you—and there are about twenty seats in total  which are usually occupied before you even set foot on the bus. When one does liberate itself, it's immediately snagged by the nearest old kook or pregnant woman. Enjoy swinging on the monkey bars, sucker.

Sick of being above ground and want to experience the life of a mole?

Use the metro! All you have to do is head down two flights of stairs, tap (or swipe) your bus card against the turnstile, power through to the first escalator, walk down the second, jog down the third, and wait on the platform along with a quarter of Rome's population. Once you're inside, get ready for some in-ride entertainment, because it's a hotspot for beggars and guitar-players with the voice of a chain-smoker. Don't have a euro you can donate? Worry not, for they will shake their paper cup or cap in your face until one magically appears.

"You're—over—doing it, Dora!" you scream, the majority of your words muffled by the salt. You are no longer you, but a white mound with crooked limbs. I wink and put my trusty salt-shaker away, to be used another day, for a different large serving of fries. 

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Is there something that you're itching to complain about, but have the good sense not to do so on a public forum? I can do it for you! Feel free to PM me with the topic you want me to rant about, and I won't think twice before adding it here. I'll be waiting!