The one where I grew sick and tired of commuting
You would think, after spending the best part of two years working in London through 2007 and 2008, that I would fit back into the world of the commutera world filled with busy railway stations, underground trains, chaotic early morning streets, andsleepy journeys home. You would be wrong.
I'm not sure if it's just because I am older and less tolerant, but travelling into London each dayover the last few weeks has pulled away at me like a loose thread. While internally exploding with anger at the thoughtlessness of somebody on-board a train this morning, I realised that I've had enough of it. It's funny reallyI always look back at those earlier years with fondnessrecalling the time I spent reading books, and so on. I had of course forgotten the ignorant, rude, loud, pushy, impatient masses that made every other journey a living nightmare.
This morning I was accompanied on the train by a “large” (read: massively overweight) woman bedecked in pearls, with a battleship hair-do, and make-up applied with a trowel. Normally I wouldn't judge anybody, but when I can't avoid their loud conversation about their new house, their new kitchen the size of an aircraft hangar, their new car, their next holiday, or whatever else she was boasting about in as smug a manner as possible, you can't help starting to pick them to pieces silently in your head. I began wonderingif she had all this “stuff”why she didn't look after herself more. It's all very well being wealthy, and a pretty horrible person, but what's the point if you're dead by the time you're 55 with heart, liver or kidney failure due to being massively overweight?It didn't stop there.
I got on the underground train, and two chinese girls followed me on with suitcases. For the duration of our journey under London they slowly, deliberately backed their cases towards me, pushing me further and further intoa corner. Rather than ask if I could perhaps move so they could push their cases into the corner, they just pretended I didn't exist, and didn't dare look at me.
I could probably write a book about human behaviour on the underground. My favourite is when you happen to be standing on the platform at exactly the right place, so whena train draws to a halt, you are facing the automatically opening doors. Given such good fortune you would imagine you would be the first person to step into the carriage. Oh no. Out of nowhere, people will barge you from both sides, and you end up being virtually last on-board. Every time.
After leaving Victoria station, my route to the office takes me across a number of busy road junctions. While approaching a crossing this morning, several people cut in front of me without a second glance, wildly stepping to and fro through the crowd to make it across the road before the lights changed.
Don't even get me started about those ridiculous trolley bag things that people drag behind them. I can understand the utility of a suitcase having wheelsbut the small ones? Please pick the damn thing up, or buya backpack. Either that, or be forced to push it in front of you, where you can see the chaos you are causing.
I probably make the commute sound awful, but the truth is that all of the loose ends only get to you if you allow them to. The old man that elbowed me in the chest last night is the closest I have ever come to speaking out on a train (I wrote about it yesterdaygo back through the blog to find it).
Anyway I just realised lunchtime is coming to an end. Time to start headbutting the desk until the home-time bell goes.