18 January 2008

Public Transport Rage

Men. Your balls can’t possibly be that big, or that heavy. So CLOSE YOUR FUCKING LEGS. I can not begin to tell you how sick I am of squeezing my legs so tightly together I almost stop the blood flow, just to make room on MY SIDE for YOUR knees. Trust me; I am not in the slighted bit interested in your crotch. I am not offended by the sight of it thrust into the limelight. I just don’t want you to touch any part of me. Or visa versa. You make my skin crawl. I know it may be a touch uncomfortable and restricting for you to close your legs. Ahh. Poor you. At what point did comfort have anything to do with Public Transport?

Teenagers. No - I don’t get you. I’m not feeling it, and I don’t want to hear it either. So dig out the headphones that came free with your mobile phone and plug the damn things in. If I can hear your shit music above my own, and I’ve got my headphones on – then it’s TOO FUCKING LOUD. Turn it down, or turn if off. Or help me God, I’ll risk the stabbing and chuck it out of the damn window. Yes, I am both that brave, and that stupid.

Suits. Fold your newspaper over as you read it. It is not acceptable to open up your paper to a double page spread. Simple. If you can't manage that complicated concept, just buy a smaller newspaper. Not one that is the size of a small table. No-one needs that much news.

Old People. If you choose to travel in the rush hour – although why on earth you would do so is beyond me – GET A BLOODY MOVE ON. Dawdling at any time of day is annoying, but I will smile, and say excuse me and make allowances for your age. You did, after all, probably fight in a war so I could have access to clean water. Or something. But trust me, if you dawdle during rush hour I will tut, I may push, and I will not, under any circumstances, give up my seat for you. No matter how many dirty old person looks you throw in my direction

Kids. I don’t care how damn cute you are. I don’t care if you can’t see out of the window. I don’t care if you want to wave at the cars passing by. But, I do care that the shit and muck and crap you walk in will get transferred onto the seat if you stand on it. SO SIT DOWN AND TAKE YOUR FEET OFF THE SEATS.

Cold? BUY A FUCKING TISSUE. I swear that there are very few sounds I find quite as offensive or annoying as someone sniffing, loudly, right in my ear, for 45 minutes on a packed train. Blow your nose, or stay at home you bastard.

Escalators. Do you live on the moon? Have you never in your entire life traveled on the Underground? Have you lost your memory? No? So why cant you STAND TO THE RIGHT, WALK ON THE LEFT? Are you stupid? How hard is it? Do you not see the flow of people walking up or down the escalator in front of you? SO GET OUT OF THE WAY YOU RETARD.

Ladies. If you are going to put your make up on on the train, don’t tut me cause I’m watching. I’m neither a lesbian (anymore) nor a stalker. I’m just interested to see whether you find it impossible to apply mascara without opening your mouth as well.

Food. The smell of the food doesn’t really bother me. I’ll be honest, the rubbish I’ll leave for someone else to worry about. But the sight and sound of you eating turns my stomach. CLOSE YOUR MOUTH WHEN YOU EAT. I don’t want to hear you chomping. I don’t want to see you chomping. And I will throw up on both you and your food if you keep it up. You have been warned.

Oyster. There is an unwritten rule. You have about 2 seconds and just one attempt to swipe yourself either in or out of the barrier. If the dreaded Seek Assistance bleep comes up, MOVE OUT OF THE WAY. Looking at it, looking at your card holder, looking bemused around you – will not make the thing open up. It’s not magic. Get out of the way or try another barrier. Or do exactly as the thing says and seek some bloody assistance.

Armrests. How on earth can they both be yours? At the very most, you might be able to bag one of them if you sat down before me. Yep, we’d all like to have our arms resting comfortably by our sides, like we were at home, in our comfy old armchair. But we aren’t. We are on the Tube. We are hot. We are uncomfortable. We are bored, tired, irritable, late, and gasping for some fresh, clean, new air. SO KINDLY MOVE YOUR BONEY ELBOWS OUT OF MY RIBS PLEASE – cause I don’t give a fuck how wide you might be – The Man gave us all just 17 inches of width space, and your elbows are eating into 3 inches of mine.

Personal Hygiene. Either have a wash. Or use deodorant. Or go and see the damn doctor. Cause if you stink at 8.30am – you, my friend, should not be out in public. I’m sure there are medical reasons why a minuscule percentage of the population has a problem with BO. In fact, I think Channel 4 did a whole Body Shock programme on some of you. But as far as I’m concerned there are very few occasions when a less-than-fresh smelling body is acceptable in public. At the gym after spinning, I’ll give you. On the street, doing a marathon or something – yep, fair do’s. But I don’t think on the 8.23am from Reading to Paddington is ok. Neither, I hasten to add is on the 5.46pm from Paddington to Reading. So HAVE A FUCKING WASH YOU DIRTY BASTARD.


Anonymous said...

Hilarious I nearly weed my pantaloons!! You should write comedy sketches for people. Just what I needed this morning. You are on FUNNY funny lady SJP xxx

Anonymous said...

You've been writing that in your head during your hellish journeys for about the last year, haven't you? Splendiferous rant, babe. I salute you.