[exeunt, doubled over]

everything has, in a brief instance, been remarkably clarified and i begin to subscribe to my humble father's (paraphrased into equal humility) theory that, in the end, it's all about laundry (oh, yes—and the whole "oatmeal and love" thing through which he won the heart and hand of my noble mother). however, i must creak the definition open enough to include: public transportation.

moreover and yet again, language class has saved not only my soul but my social persona (despite the damage already wreaked in this limitless sphere).

which is to say: tonight i dared bring up with Tijana a topic which has long been burdening me. riding around the city on these last-[hung-up-in-traction]-legged vehicles, i have noticed that there is a powerful and completely disproportionate obsession on the part of Beograđani (inhabitants thereof), without exception, which pertains to their making it off the bus/tramvaj at their intended stop. granted, vehicles do not always halt where all signs and symbols indicate that they will or should. however, this occurrence is a rarity (relatively speaking) and, moreover, is not the actual source of the collective fear. instead, people simply think that they, themselves will not be able to exit the bus when their blessed time comes. crammed in with our vestigial gills and fins, i sympathise with the sentiment to a point, except that this point remains in the safe region far far below the one which would demand that, in meaning to exit at the following stop, one leap from one's seat (or, correlatively, elbow from one's 20×20 square cm) and make for the door as soon as the bus has inhaled in preparation for accelerating from the current stop. that no one is going anywhere (or nowhere, for that matter) when the doors are not open is as self-evident a fact as ever i have self-evidenced. nonetheless, its absolute grounding in reality fails to remove it from the sector of widespread suspicion. trying only to educate the public in the form of busload after busload of my fellows, i have been thoroughly stymied in valiant attempts to expound upon the basic tenets of either solid/volumetric geometry or vectors (i blame it all on my Very Soft Voice, although frantic gesticulating does not seem to be ameliorating anything, either), and, thus, many times per day i find myself, once again, in the direct path between a small percentage of a large and crazed population (multiplication always bears an intrinsic ability to frighten) and the nearest exit.

so, you say, why should this be a matter for discussion in language class? besides the obvious answer (all together now: "that everything is such," especially in the particularities of my current, but also under normal circumstances), there is a small detail of the above sketched (and then swiftly, resoundingly trampled) scene which i have suspected contained the wheat germ of the whole affair, but which i have found myself unable to seminally unlock. this, however, i cannot attribute to Very Soft Voice because i cannot for the life of me figure out with the type of accuracy necessary for imitation in VSV (after dictionary-searcheage, of course (this having also been pushed out of the question)) just what this tiny, imperative (aha! the likely pair! the theory holds!) word is that, without exception, every one utters on his way to the still-closed door. that it is characterised by great sibilance allows me to narrow it down exactly zero, because i cannot tell where the s's fall; that it is spoken with the lightening speed of phrases which are not meant to be understood (being, well, understood) helps me even less.

based on the hysterical context, i have adopted the following ethnographer's working hypothesis: this bizarre native population, as they travel around their vast city in their little broken buses, have coined the phrase "ss—s——sssss" (where the "—" stands for a sound in the native language which is hitherto indeterminate on the part of this writer, at the time of writing), which one employs when he wishes to make it perfectly clear to a traveling peer that he wishes to exit the vehicle at the next stop and not a moment later (the population under analysis appears to have a pronounced and irrational fear about being prevented from doing so, to such a degree that it may be said to typify the native society as a whole), and which, roughly translated, means "i wish to tell you that i wish to exit the bus at the next stop (and no later) and i also wish you to understand this to the bottoms of the feet that are, at this instant, underneath mine and, most of all, i wish that you will not get in my way when i realise this long-held wish, despite the fact that this event will not come to pass for another five minutes."

puzzled by the fact that my consistent and patient nodding affirmations of what, nonetheless, seemed to be a hugely unnecessary articulation, had not stopped my being, just as consistently, pummeled and, moreover, glared at in a way even beyond the usual countenance of casual regard, i allowed myself a decidedly atypical anthropological doubt: that, just perhaps, i had not understood this native population's meaning in uttering the phrase i had impeccably translated, despite the unwisdom of doing so in the face of so many missing syllables (but salvaged using the Theory of Translation through which an appellation accrues validity solely on the basis of word count).

the existential (or, at least, linguistic (though these are quite easily conflated)) crisis, however, proved to be my saving grace and, in raising it before Tijana's masterful clarificatory gaze, i discovered that, indeed, the correct term is: "izlaziš," meaning "to exit" in the second person singular and followed by a question mark. thus, it seems that, for several months now, i have been systematically leading, with my wearily tolerant nod directed at what i thought was their statement of exit, countless natives to believe that i, too, would be stepping from the bus and, thus, was not an immediate threat—only to renege on this contract at the last moment and, as such, become, once again, a candidate for worse than the infidel's punishment.

perhaps i will not be ascribing to any of these local customs (solidly prefer my last-minute dash after the doors have sprung open, knowing full well that missing one stop, if my tact fails, rarely means a walk of either the distance or the gruel implied by the phobic reaction) anytime in the near future, but at least, from today, i will say what i mean and mean what i say, that my "yes" will be Yes, and my "no," No. standing upright (doctrinally, philosophically, linguistically, intentionally and—physically), perhaps now i will have a chance at that lecture, the notes of which are pinioned somewhere in the pocket down by the knee i can neither move nor feel and may, indeed, have been stolen.