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Very hot weather can seriously fray a woman's nerves. I had an experience once on a sticky day in Greece that nearly tipped me over the edge into insanity.

It all happened when I lived in Athens, Greece. It was late in the month of May. I had to get on the bus to go to the school where I taught, because I had been shopping in the city center that morning.

Before I begin I had better explain that many Greeks have very little concept of personal space or privacy. They just don't get it. Your average Greek sees no problem with barging into your house at eight o'clock in the morning with out knocking, nor with touching or hugging you with out the slightest inclination that this is something you actually want. It's just the way they are, and if you live in Greece, you quickly learn not to take it personally or to mistake their excessive over-friendliness for a sexual come on.

By contrast, I am English, and we Brits are known for keeping our emotions in check and our hands to ourselves in front of those we aren't very familiar with. We give strangers at least three feet of personal space, and we expect the same in return.

Now back to the story. It was the middle of the day and there was no air outside. The bus was crowded far in excess of maximum capacity (the Greeks have no idea of safety standards either). Therefore, the passengers were squashed together like a tin of sardines, and I had no choice but to stand up. There was no air-conditioning on this vehicle from hell. I began sweating immediately. The inside of the bus had an average temperature of at least one hundred degrees Fahrenheit. My make-up began to slide down my face and I quickly developed the moustache of perspiration I usually wore in that country. I won't even get started on the pubic halo my hair seems to acquire when I am sweating.

As you can no doubt imagine, I became severely irritated within three minutes of getting on board the bus. However, to make matters infinitely worse a substantially overweight and not very cleanly middle-aged man hemmed me into a corner. He grabbed various bits of the bus to keep his balance. Consequently, he had his arms very close to either side of my body so that I could neither move nor escape. It was very nearly an embrace. To make matter worse, he reeked of stale body odor. I was like a cat in a bag with no way to escape. I soon had an almost irresistible urge to rake my fingernails down his face for trapping me in such a rude and inconsiderate way. I had to spend the next half hour being jostled back and forth by the motion of the moving bus. I kept bumping into him, and to judge by the expression on his lewd and vulgar Benny Hill-like face, he was enjoying it immensely, which made me want to harm him even more. By the time I got off the bus I was almost hopping up and down like Rumplestiltskin. I consider that particular greasy little fat man very lucky to be alive.

Learn more about this author, Rosa Radikalis.
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