Cos the World Owes Me!

Do you use a bus on your commute? There's a type of person I see more on the bus than the train; the young female with toddler in push chair, wearing a default surly face which says ‘Out o' my way, can’t you see I’m comin' froo?’

You may have seen them yourself: Grey stained ill-fitting tracksuit bottoms and off-grime trainers, crop top with excess body over the waistband complete with belly-button stud drowning in flab; three-toned 'blond' 'hair'; an excess of silver chains, rings, dangly loop earrings and a nose stud; money wasted in the nails shop sporting ludicrous, impractical talon extensions, clutching a packet o’ fags and an expensive mobile phone in one hand while steering the off-spring buggy with the other, caring little for fellow passengers. The balling toddler looks like it's dressed in Surly’s own baby clothes, under a blanket that itself screams "Launder me a month ago!"

I watch (from the middle of the bus) an older gentleman with walking stick get up from his seat near the front – seats meant for the elderly and disabled as well as push-chair users – and offer it to Surly. To be fair Surly says “Fanks” but in a monotone of expectation rather than acknowledgement of a kindly deed, and with a look now directed at the older woman sitting next to her saying ‘Well move then, my buggy’s gotta go there!’

I am uplifted as the older lady looks straight back at her, smiles, then returns to her book with more class than Surly will muster in her lifetime. The scene is a striking contrast - the older woman, poised, smartly dressed, life's experience carried with dignity on her face, the look of a considerate person: the young girl, slouching, characterless, slovenly, a taker!

Balling offspring is red-faced; cheeks tear-soaked, snot-nosed. Surly leans over impatiently, made more inconvenient for her (and humorous for me) by the older woman not moving. She may look considerate but it doesn't mean she lacks self-confidence.
"Stop it, Britney! What you cryin' about? 'Ere!" Surly stuffs a dummy in her child's mouth. This works for a second before the dummy falls out. It is, though, brilliantly caught in the fall by the older woman, like an expert slip-fielder. Britney starts balling again but not before older lady receives a high-pitched 'Woooo' from a man sitting opposite and a small clap from two smiling teenage girls in standing room only. She passes it to Surly, dummy teat up under Surly's mouth; for me a superbly comic moment!

Surly is momentarily stunned. The older lady smiles her smile again and once more returns to her book. After what seems like an age, Surly sucks on the dummy (as if her cigarette-saliva and breath will sterilise it) and this time, coaxes it into Britney's mouth in a more caring way.

As I get off the bus I observe the scene one last time. Surly is on her mobile now talking to her friend Tiff, just subtly enough for the whole bus to hear. Older lady, straight-backed, unmoved, continues to read. The image is stark. Yes it's one of age, appearance (literally and perceptually), life experience, style, class. But it's also, sadly, one of distinctly opposite (and in the latter case growing) outlooks on life: Consideration of others in a shared world versus one solely interested in what the world owes me.

Sad? Anal?

‘Hang on, is someone in my place? No I think I’m okay. Or am I? Shit! Better get there quick!’

My step quickens. I allow plenty of time to get to my platform waiting points, morning and night. I know exactly where the doors open to my preferred carriages and thereby the prime spots to board for my favoured seats. Gotta secure my space!

“Sad git!” I hear you think. “What are you talking about; a forty minute commute? An hour? Whatever! Just get on and deal with it!”

 Well, okay. In that case I should advise, successfully boarding is Stage 2.

“You’re…(optional swear word)…joking right?"

No! Stage 1 is to scan the carriages, both as the trains pull in and in the seconds preceding the doors opening, checking if my preferred and/or back-up seats are free. Further, that this stage be executed with a convincing look of unwavering, indifferent coolness. If they are free, boarding decision clear! If not, a super-fast survey and decision making process must ensue so that, when Stage 2 begins, I do not hesitate and consequently lose out in the race-for-the-remaining-best-seats stakes.

I know you’re rolling your eyes now. You want to say something not altogether flattering about me.

But wait! My carriages offer easy boarding, and alighting at journeys end. In the morning, most people at my station want to get on at, or near, the front. The platform is crowded and scrums form around the doors. The carriages also look busier. At journeys end, these same carriages are full of later standing passengers with a propensity to hover impatiently at the doors and rush out to the barriers; only then to stand there queuing after a quickstep-n-dodgem pelt to get one person ahead. I board the second to last carriage. No scrum here; it’s like passengers from earlier stations have ignored the carriage’s existence. At journeys end, I wait until most people get off, then leisurely put on my jacket/coat, don my back-pack and stroll down to the barriers where the queues have gone – straight through.

In the evening I board at a starter station. I often see my regular-ish train come in and empty out. Here, I get on three carriages from the front and because I am one of the first to board, always get a favoured seat. This carriage has two advantages: It generally clears out at the station prior to my mine, leaving me in a nice quiet carriage for the last leg of my commute; and when it stops at my station, the doors open right by the steps leading to the exit. Consequently, without rush, I ready myself in comfort by the door and then step out with minimal hassle to leave the station.

“Really?” you scoff, “You’re that anal about it? Just go with the flow! If you have to wait and queue, live with it! If you get overtaken in the rush, well that’s commuting for you! If you don’t like it, don’t commute!”

I hear your thoughts! Honestly! But I say, preparation beats consternation!

As I approach my platform space, relief prevails.
‘That’s a bit of luck, they’re not quite in the right place.’ Inside I savour a warming moment of smugness! Standing in my spot, the universe is once more in balance!

Sad? Maybe! Anal? Possibly – a bit! Comfortable and (relatively) relaxed? Definitely!

Imagine your house this close to a train!

http://www.keteka.com/your-stories/how-close-can-a-train-come-to-a-house/

A brilliant train video, thanks to www.keteka.com

Feeling Ok – introspective rambling

I'm drifting on the train, sitting back, no particular thoughts. But something changes.

I know where I am but momentarily feel lost. There’s a carriage full of people but, somehow, I’m alone. It’s bright outside and the temperature's warm but I come over chilly. Everyone is quiet, peaceful even, comfortably reading or dozing. So why do I have an uneasy fear?

I tell myself how (relatively) healthy I am and confident coping with the general stuff of life. As the journey and time pass I remind myself how I am used to them; these ... mini-conflicts I randomly, unwittingly, ignite in myself.

Thing is; I’ve talked to myself this way all my life! It’s like I simultaneously know who I am and yet want to know who I really am! Yes, you and me also!

I wish I knew myself more precisely; truly realised my qualities and limitations, and what more I am capable of doing to achieve higher contentment.

I stop drifting, open my eyes and look out of the window. I’m sitting relaxed, smily. The sun hasn’t shone this bright for a long time. The world outside appears lighter. Today feels like I do on one of my good days!



Ps. My hardy reader will be pleased to know that I won’t be writing introspectives often! :-) 

Funny What's in a Name!

“What do you think of the name ‘Roger’?” one woman asks her friend as we wait for our morning train.
Okay, where’s this going? I think.
“A bit of an old man’s name now. But thirty, forty years ago it was popular.”
They appeared to be ladies in their early fifties and so, respectfully, should know.
“But what does it say to you? I mean, about a man called Roger?”
Ah, here we go, might be amusing!
“I don’t know,” says friend, “someone steady, not that exciting. Why?”
“I wouldn’t call my son ‘Roger’ now. Too old-fashioned, and” (this next bit is in a lower voice) “the name is a bit naughty!”
“What do you mean?” asks a now intrigued, wide-eyed friend.
“You know” answers the first woman. She looks around as if her next words are top secret, then proceeds to move her right arm and fist in a suggestive forward and back motion adding,
“’Rogering’!”
Her astonished friend is momentarily speechless, I think caused as much by the arm movement as the words.
“I beg your pardon?” she says finally with an uncertain laugh.
“You know” eyes moving fleetingly, “‘Rog-‘!”
“Er, yes, I get it!”
I smirk.
“No”, continues friend, “I wouldn’t call my son Roger now either, but not because of your…reason.” She looks again at her friend’s arm. “I just don’t like it. It reminds me of other dull names, like ‘Ian’, ‘Glen’, or ‘Darren’!”
“Why don’t you like Darren?” queries first woman.
“Eeeeaaagh!” A being sick sound. “Plain, no personality and not to be trusted!” Was that said with a hint of spite?
Maybe, but this is dull now!
“Do you know anyone called Darren?”
Boring!
“Yes, I do actually!”
“Who?”
Friend surveys again for ear-wiggers.
“My ex-lover!”
Bloody hell! What?
“What?” says first woman too loudly for comfort.
Friend says nothing, just stares at her companion with a look that says ‘Keep it down!’
First woman lowers her voice.
Sue*!...” She half says the word “How” but it doesn’t fully come out.
“When? Is he a work thi…who is he? Oh my god! I don’t believe it!” She is genuinely stunned. She looks out over the tracks into the distance, then down at the tracks, then back to Sue.
“You’re kidding! I mean, why, how long, who is he? Oh my god you must be kidding! You’re kidding, right?”
Sue straightens her back and looks directly into her friend's eyes. Her face changes to neutral. Friend stares back, searching, waiting.
“Cath”* a long pause, then slowly, “Yes, I, am!”
Sue can’t hold it in and bursts out laughing. It’s a roar, then a belly laugh bordering on tears. “Your face!” Sue can’t stop laughing. “Oh, my eyes.” She has tissue in her hand wiping their undersides. “That was so funny!” Rubbing it in now. Cath slaps her half playfully on the arm. Sue rubs the point of impact as the not so playful half has stung but she continues laughing. Cath cracks an uneasy smile but is clearly still processing what’s happened as the train approaches the platform.

The incident has truly brightened my morning. I feel myself smiling, inside and out. As the train stops, Sue and Cath walk down the platform to the next carriage. Sue is looking straight ahead. Cath is looking at Sue, smiling but still processing, waiting. They will no doubt carry on with a discussion about what’s just occurred. I get on the train the better for what I’ve just seen and very pleased that my name isn’t Roger, or Ian, Glen and especially Darren.


*Names changed for anonymity

A Moral for mobile users on a train

“Hello” shouts Loud Woman (LW) into her mobile with an upward inflection. After a short pause, “I’m on the train”, this even louder. Another pause then, “Yeah, can’t talk, carriage full o’ people. I’ll be home in twenty minutes.”

LW is now listening intently but interjects randomly, and still unnecessarily loudly, with “Can’t be!”, short laughter burst then, “She wouldn’t!”, inward gasp of breath, “Huh” and then “Nooo!” and so it continues.

I see the faces and body language of fellow passengers betraying their thoughts about her. Some adjectives visually audible include: Ignorant, thoughtless, arrogant, ill-mannered, ill-bred, boorish.

Finally, LW states in decibels allied to a megaphone,
“Have you told her to stop?” This is immediately countered with impeccable timing by the words
“I wish you’d bloody stop!” There is instant laughter; from short “Ha’s” to one woman’s belly laugh and accompanying tears; a few people clapping; several people stunned into a heightened silence; and others shuffling in their seats whispering.

The man who spoke – a carriage hero to many, is seated two rows behind LW. She looks around the carriage, appearing unsure why the atmosphere has changed and mirth is in the air. Her face then contorts and shoulders rise towards her tensing neck as she realises the comment is directed at her; the stares, laughter, claps, all for her. She tries to look behind but cannot turn. She is hemmed in by her ample frame, limited in flexibility and the equally large man seated next to her. He looks at her smiling. She is deciding whether he is trying to be polite, or enjoying the joke in her face.

LW’s expression now speaks louder than she does. Shall I continue talking? What do I say? Should I be angry? Who with? The audience viewing this free, live, impromptu play is hooked. They are all wondering: What will she do next?
“I’ll call you back!” says LW finally and in a lower tone. There is an inaudible but perceptible collective sigh.

Oh but that this would be the end of the matter for LW. Instead, her mobile rings and it’s even louder than her voice. The ring tone is ‘The Birdy Song'.
“Oh dear God!” shouts Carriage Hero. The captive audience love it and roar with laughter. LW fumbles with her mobile in both hands, as if it’s a hot potato and quickly cancels the call. She then fumbles with it some more, I suspect to turn off the power.

At the next stop LW alights. To her credit she does this with a certain coolness and dignity (I could not see from where I was seated whether she scanned faces for her nemesis). This cool exterior, however, is soon identified as false, for once the doors close and the train pulls away, a fellow passenger is overheard by some and then whispers around the carriage follow, confirming
“That’s not her stop. She’s got another two to go.”

There are, arguably, several morals to this tale for regular commuters. Surely, though, the most crucial is: The ‘Birdy Song’ must never, ever, be used as a ringtone!!

SMELLY

Aaah! The relief of the train doors opening! The unfettered joy of cold, fresh air washing over me!

As he entered the carriage my senses immediately raised the alarm. This was unfair; he had done nothing wrong. But when he sat next to me my senses were right to be scared. My eyes rolled and watered; my nostril fibres baulked in anguish; and my body convulsed. I was under a full-frontal attack of stench.

His garlic breathe was overwhelming. I felt like my nasal lining was alight and scar tissue was being cut into the back of my throat. My mind swam; I was heading for the dark side. Fear then consumed me; that the odour was impregnating the fabric of my clothes.

We pulled into the next stop where my very being craved emergency assistance; anything to neutralize the sensory molestation. A cool breeze again swept over me, filling my gasping lungs with air, like an oxygen-depleted scuba-diver breaking the water’s surface and feeling re-born. But alas, as the doors closed, a crushing wave of hum washed over my head, once more taking me under.

The next stop was ten minutes away. I feared I could not survive that long in this straightjacket of rancidness. I closed my eyes and tried to enter a hitherto unexplored spiritual world where only minimal respitory function was required. I sadly failed and had to take deep breathes to recuperate equilibrium, thereby digesting more putrid, garlic-infested air.

Relief, though, was surely at hand. The next stop was a major drop-off point before the train’s final destination where I was heading. Surely, he would get off here and afford me an early parole? But no! Moreover, the opposite doors opened this time and no relieving breeze came to my rescue.

The journey to the final stop only takes four minutes. It felt like forty. The life-blood had drained from me. The debilitating odour had crushed my will to breathe. When the train stopped and everyone began to alight, including Stinky, I sat there, taking a moment to myself. I felt simultaneously dirty but strangely, free.

I told people at work what had happened. Most laughed, some sympathised but a few offered workable solutions:

Wear a smog mask. This will at least provide nasal and throat protection and a clear visual message to the rank offender

Dab perfume or cologne under your nose and around your face to battle with the pong for supremacy, and again provide a layer of sense protection

Carry fabric freshener along with personal hygiene products to compliment the brave work of the perfume or cologne on the pungent front line

Offer to the rancid one, strong mints. This latter option should be accompanied by advising Stinky that their breathe is a civil tragedy and that some consideration of others wouldn’t go amiss. This, of course, is not a cure. But it will make you feel a whole lot better!