Be Excellent To Each Other

As I have bitched about on other threads, for the next few weeks I have a regular 2 hour+ commute each way. My current fun is identifying the various types of anti-social fuckers I meet on my travels:

1) The Make Up Lady. Rushed onto the train this morning to get one of the last remaining seats before the masses behind her crowded in (which just happened to be next to me). Before she even fully sat down she had pulled out her make up bag, for the next 15 minutes she did the whole lot. foundation, eye business, lippy, etc…
This seemed very much like a practiced routine, what does she do if she can't get a seat? Why can she not get up 15 minutes earlier and do it at home?

2) Boom-tiss Boy. Spend £500 on an iPhone, use the £2 headphones that come with it. Bangin toons dude.

3) The Shaver. Luckily I haven't met one yet, but it is only a matter of time.

4) "My Seat" Brian. This is my seat, this is where I stand on the platform, this is the time I get up and go to the door before we come into the station, etc… DO NOT FUCK WITH ME.

5) The Sharer. I'm not interested in how you are getting on with your current pill and how the implant didn't work for you, how often you are having sex with your ex-bf, what Jamie from the office is doing working there if he has a degree from Oxford, where you parked your car, which washing machine you have, how often your bins get taken out. Keep the noise down love, we don't care and i'm pretty sure your friend has passed out from boredom.

6) The Tourist. See how. annoying it. is. to have. random stops. in a. sentence? Keep moving please, or stand to the side.

7) The Mobile meanderer. You may think that you can text and walk at the same time. You can't.




It's shit, I say that I couldn't do this everyday, but the soul destroying thing is that I probably could… for the money. Luckily my commuting life over the course of a year is generally split between 50% 1 hour commute into London, 25% fucking awful 2 hour+ to some god awful hell hole and 25% working from home.

The things we do for money...

I'm "My Seat" Brian.

I am also Brian. I even have a system that lets me see how many times I've been on a particular train (it's up to 45 on one of them, as of this morning).

I'm slightly Brian, my commute isn't regular enough to be fully Brian though.

I've done the same commute for the better part of a decade. The place I stand on the platform pretty much has the shape of my feet embedded in it.

On a train in Japan, there was Eyebrow-Plucker Julie. Turned out she was also Toenail-Clipper Judy.

Very-Definitely-Not-Looking Mary next to her was enormously amused by my wide-eyed, slack-jawed amazement as I looked around for other people to share my wide-eyed, slack-jawed amazement with.

I am also My-Seat-Brian. Luckily my bust stop is the 3rd on the bus route so I usually have my choice of seats in the morning (Top deck, right hand side, 4 seats back from the front). The same cannot be said for my journey home when I am forced to scrum with the rest of the plebs* to find any seat possible (always top desk though).

*I count myself among them. I R COMMUTE.

Ooh - me too. That's because it's the side that doesn't have the heater, and it's the first seat back that doesn't have a fucking great pillar where your shoulder needs to go.

Also, you can perve on the ladies as they get on.

Ahem.

In my experience, there's also:

8 ) The Phone Call Nazi.

I particularly loathe this character. Despite NOT BEING IN THE QUIET CARRAIGE, YOU CUNT, this character objects to *any* use of a mobile phone. The "public" in "public transport" is clearly lost on him.

I mean seriously, I've been sat in a crowded carriage stuffed to the gunnels with people chatting away about the most inane stuff (not to mention significant background noise generated by the train itself), and the phone has rang. It's a client; my very livelihood. No sooner have a started the call, even having already courteously explained that I can't talk for long as I'm on a train, some fucker sat about three rows behind (not anyone close to me) taps me on the shoulder, interrupts my call, and tells me "he's being annoyed"...? Whilst my client is still on the line...?

Seriously, this has happened to me about three times in the last year. On the last occasion, after having pointed out to the guy that it wasn't a quiet zone carriage and both he and I were sat in a public space, he *still* got really narked and sarcastic with me, well beyond the point of utter rudeness, ironically using appalling language that was vastly more offensive than any mere phone call could've possibly been.

It very rarely happens these days but I must admit I totally snapped/saw dull red at this point (you know, when all you can hear is the blood pumping round your head). I remember leaping off my seat and telling him that if he didn't STFU that very instant, I would throw his foul-mouthed, arrogant, rude ass straight out of the smashable emergency exit window and no mistake. Funnily enough, he relented at this point - yet still saw fit to mutter something at me about 2hrs later, having not uttered a word until then, just as I was leaving the train. Twat

I wouldn't have minded so much if I was being loud, or if the call was going on for 20 mins, or if it wasn't an important call - but fuck me. Some people are just so intolerant, so fucking rude, it just beggars belief.

I'm My Seat Brian too. It's easy to be so when you travel the same journey at the same time every day.

Makeuppers never sit next to me twice due to my elbows which always seem to get really twitchy when they sit next to me. No idea why.

*makes a note not to upset Cavey*

*makes a note to call Cavey everytime he is on a train*

How about The BBM'ers who spend the whole journey sending and receiving little fucking chirps? If you get enough of them around you, it feels like a fucking aviary.

And me? I sit there, taking up one seat, quietly reading...

...and perving at the ladies.

Nah, not at all mate, I'm harmless.
That's a once-a-decade event.

Ah yes, the phone-chirpers. No need to turn your phone onto silent, we don't mind. Oh, and that key tapping noise you have turned on every time to press a letter? It's so endearing.

For the Brians among us, what would happen if a new guy turned up that interfered with your routine?

I've got fall back options. Short of bursts of visceral combat there's not a lot you can do about someone sat in your seat when you arrive.

I would sit two rows back and glare at the back of his head. But like I said, I'm first on

There's also the dreaded:

9) Pissed up, loud, profane [Scottish/Scouse, delete as appropriate] traveller, who surely needs no introduction or explanation. Easily spotted a mile off via the profusion of McEwan's Lager tins in placky bags. (Funnily enough, no would-be Phone Nazi ever has the balls to challenge these 'Flying Scotsman' types for fear of a smack in the gob - despite their causing utter mayhem for hours at a time).

10) The I'm-pretending-to-be-asleep-fare-dodger, causing much embarrassment as the ticket inspector has to virtually wrench them from their seat;

11) The Train Toilet Dweller, usually (but not always) of the fairer sex - invariably inhabits the one functioning lavvy on the train for unfeasibly long periods, as an ever-increasing and ever more ill-tempered bunch of people crossing their legs snakes back into the carriage. Takes great exception when, as a final act of desperation, someone politely taps on the toilet door.

Well, yeah.

Cavey - how did the Nazi tap you on the shoulder on a crowded if he wasn't near you? Or did he (as the post sort-of says) get someone else to tap you, because that means he talked to someone else on a train which means you can throw him through the window.

There were no standing passengers mate (London - Manc 1st class Virgin Train). I guess he got out of his seat, walked to immediately behind where I was sitting (and on the phone), and tapped me sharply on my left shoulder. I had to cut the caller off as a result.

...And last but not least from me:

12) The Phantom Farter. Usually just as you're about to tuck into that nice prawn mayo sandwich you managed to grab from Pret before embarking.

I had a born again dude in the carriage last week. 17 minutes non-stop of how we were all going to hell.

"Oh well, if I'm already going to hell, a little bit of murder won't hurt."

*GLARE*

But what if he was a Brian and he was always in your seat? Would you change your routine to get back to being 1st? Would you do it again if he changed his routine to be 1st again? Would you ever mention it to each other?

When I was doing a more regular commute I used to see the same old guy, standing at the same place, getting the same seat. I used to get on with him and do the same but the seat across the carriage from him, but we never even looked at each other, let alone acknowledge or, god forbid, talk. Yet this is a guy I saw every day for a few months and spent 50 minutes a day in close company with.

However there is a train I get sometimes that has a "commuting club" on it. A group of 4-5 guys who meet up on the train and chat the whole way. It's very weird.

I had a born again last week - see him every month or so. Singing the chorus from the same gospel hymn all the way from canary wharf (probably further, as I've never seen him getting on) to Lewisham, with the volume gradually increasing such that when he gets off the train, he's at a full Whoopi and clapping his hands.

Join in.

With a timpani.

This aspect of commuting always amuses me. On a legal case I was once working on, I had occasion to travel with a QS from Leeds. We were being jostled by various people in a crowd attempting to get into a lift out of a tube station (I forget which, but there was no stair exit), and I spent the whole time saying sorry to random people, despite the fact that I wasn't the one doing the pushing. I saw he was smirking at me, and he said "spot the Northerner!"... I was a bit taken aback, not least because I'm actually from Essex (though have been in the Northwest for 20 years so I daresay I've gone native). But he explained that bona fide Londoners, especially commuters, are quite the rudest people on Earth in these type of situations and most would rather die than have to so much as acknowledge a fellow human being on the tube or train, let alone say 'sorry' to him.

Fascinating to watch a crowded tube carriage - totally stuffed to the point people's faces are buried in others' armpits (what a way to live, I could not stand that myself) - yet still everyone manages to stare precisely into their alotted, tiny bit of ceiling space or wherever, where no-one else is looking. Even eye contact, it seems, let alone actual conversation, is quite the faux pas of the century, despite the almost comical, ludicrous circumstances?? It's considered "weird" that anyone should want to talk with anyone else, despite seeing each other every morning and evening for God knows how many months, years, decades. Amazing.

That's almost right. For your average commuter that's absolutely true. For real 8th Dan London commuters though, your mind becomes one with the flow of human traffic so as to allow you to always know where you need to move, so the occasion of having to apologise to someone for bumping into them would never arise.

Even then, a mumbled grunt is more than adequate.

Around here, Mrs Metal noted that nobody talks on the subway, they just sit and stare at their shoes or into space. Nothing has changed since that observation, except now people have a Kindle/iPad/Blackberry/iPhone in their hands to stare at.

The problem comes when the train is rammed full (as it often is for the morning trip that I am about to undertake). When your stop arrives, you have to have begun pushing your way to the door at the previous stop. Some also have headphones in and so don't hear your entreaties to move please. What's astonishing, through, is that even as someone is pushing past through the narrow gap they haven't really bothered to create, they don't pull their precious device back from reading distance, even for a moment, to both make room and prevent if being knocked out of their hands.

Whatever they're reading is so damned interesting that they'll continue to read up on the street, meandering slowly from side to side along the sidewalk staring down at their phone.

That's me. Love dropping them in Super Markets too.

People who try to get on the tube while you are trying to get off, just get out of the way, ffs.
People on trains who are used to tubes and don't realise that the button needs to be pressed to open the door.

Just don't move. Let the doors close and continue to the next stop if necessary.

Sometimes it's fun to just stand there and see how long it takes for the person behind you to lunge wildly and stab the button.

About a second, normally.

I did that the other day. I even held my hand over the button but didn't press it. That elongated the time significantly.

Lots of people say that, even lots of people who do it everyday. Yet they carry on doing it...
I hate it, but I do it because I want to earn a certain wage and to get that I have to do it. It's mercenary, but it's true.

My friend was on the tube this morning at rush hour with a wheelie suitcase. She wasn't happy about it.

Oh don't me wrong mate, if anything I'm admiring of people's grit and determination about it all, I'm not being critical. Of course I'd do it as well, and have done it after a fashion, if the money's there. We've all got to earn a crust etc.

(Besides which, I'm a fine one to talk. Most people hate the idea of my job as well - standing in fields, building sites, factories and beside motorways/railway lines until 3am, in a flourescent yellow site coat, with a sound level meter in hand. I've even stumbled onto a choc-full dance floor in a nightclub at 2am so attired and equipped, with revellers at peak levels of pissed-up-ness, just at the critical moment of The Last Lager Waltz^* with the DJ announcing - entirely mischievously and inaccurately - "hey guys and gals, here's the bloke from the Council who's trying to shut us down". No surprises why they got me to do that particular project).

^* The correct technical term for the 'slowey' at the end of the night at which point, when all else has failed, one must grab whichever female is still on offer - usually a 10-pinter - and proceed to said dance floor, else it's 'Tom Tank' time still later that evening.

As long as she remembered she was actually wheeling it, otherwise she would have been...

13) Rollergirl. That gap in the foot traffic was big enough for you, sure, but not you and the case you are dragging. Did you forget, or are my shins expendable?

The trams in Manchester are cunts for this - sometimes all the doors open automatically, sometimes they need human involvement. There's no rhyme or reason to it.

That, I recall, is Michael Mcintyres' good joke.

It's fine to be critical, as it deserves criticism!

It's an interesting question though, for the non-london commuters among us, how much would you have to be earning to do this every day?
For the london commuters, how much would you be willing to give up to get out?

I used to live in London (Willesden Green) and I worked in the City (between Moorgate and Liverpool Street) According to the TFL website, that should take 30 minutes on the tube, it would typically take me 40 minutes to get in to work, and between 60 and 90 minutes on the way home.

According to google maps, this is about 9 miles above ground, and cycling should take 55 minutes (driving about 45). I could normally (15 years ago when I did this commute) do it in about 45 minutes on the bike too.

So, one solution is perhaps to cycle (really bad weather, or meeting a client early where the only things that used to force me on the tubes)

As for what it took for me to leave, I went from £38,000 in October '99 and my first job after the move to Devon was for about £20,000 in 2000 (and I'm not that much above that still 12 years on)

Malc

That reminds me of 14) People that take luggage onto public transport at rush hour.

My conservative mathematics would suggest somewhere in the region of £62k.

Also pushchairs

*whistles*

Fucking right - that's even worse because they're normally bigger.

Pushchairs at peak times should be a punishable offence.