I started writing this entry the moment this huge cow of a person sat down next to me at the foyer just about 30 minutes ago. I could almost swear that the moment his ass landed on the bench, my side of the wooden seat lifted. So I took out a piece of A4 paper and started writing everything that was going through my mind. Gosh, so many words, so little paper. Well, yeah if only that were true - it was so damned hard to write because every time Sir Fatso shifted around in his seat, I would get thrown about in mine. I was starting to wonder if the bench would actually break. Seriously.

So I had no choice but to write in my head. But have you ever sat on a freaky roller coaster ride and tried to compose a coherent sentence before? It doesn't work out too well.

After a little while and a lot more shifting, he turns and asks me if he could borrow my phone in this prepubescent high-pitched voice. Any higher, and horny bats would be responding to his mating call. So I tried to see how big his Adam's Apple - which is apparently, the determining factor of the tone of your voice - was. But I couldn't find it. Because I couldn't find his neck. Because he didn't have one.

So anyway, I lent him my phone. And regretted like hell after I did. He was sweating like nobody's business. Clearly, anti-perspirant is not on his shopping list. He passed me back my phone after speaking in some foreign language. And ewww it was so gross. It was nearly dripping wet, and the screen was most certainly *gulp* foggy.

He then starts talking to me about sports. He asked if I was a football fan. I politely said "Hell, no". And he started shaking his head in despair as if I told him that I just shagged a nun. This went on for quite a while.

"Do you at least watch the World Cup?"

"Nope. I hate football."

"Do you like other sports no."

"Sorry?"

"Do you like other sports no."

Yes, you read his question exactly the way it's written. No pauses between 'sports' and 'no', no intonation that would suggest that he was asking a question.

"Yep, I like other sports - any other sport - except football."

I start thinking of ways to bring this annoying small talk to a blissful end and get the hell on with my own business - waiting. Then the thought of pretending to make a phone call entered my head. But there was one problem. As much as I hated this guy, I had no heart to start wiping my sweat-drenched phone in front of him. So, I had to pretend that I was wiping it for reasons other than the fact that it was contaminated with his germs.

So I spilled water on my phone accidently, deliberately. Then I began to wipe it. Two birds with one stone eh? I got most of the dirt out thanks to the water. It's a perfectly good cover up. And I managed to get him to stop talking to me. More like three birds now.

I realised very soon that my efforts were all in vain because after a while, he got up and walked towards a car and got into it. The driver drove off and nearly killed half a dozen Indonesian cleaners while he was at it - honking violently at them. What a jerk.

You see, I don't care if you are fat or thin, round or chopstick-like, huge or tiny. I don't need my friends to be beautiful, although by sheer coincidence, they all are (awww...). But what I do care for is a sense of consideration. If you're sweating as if you just made a round trip to the sun, then at least have the decency to wipe your face clean before you borrow somebody's phone. That's like someone who doesn't wash his hands after he pees. If I suffered from a disease that causes me to fart unstoppably, I would excuse myself each time. Or hang an air freshener on the waistband of my underwear. Using the word "please" wouldn't kill you either. And don't give me that disgusted face just because I don't like football. While we're at it, he looked like a football.

That just fell into a ditch.