This morning the much coveted front carriage of the train was inaccessible and the doors weren’t working.
It is much coveted because the exit at London Victoria station is at the front and saving ourselves an extra few metres at the end of the journey is just SO important.
As a small group of us collected by the door, the allocated ‘pusher of the door button’ (which is never discussed or agreed, but still the responsibility somehow falls to one person and never disputed) started prodding away only to find that nothing was happening.
The driver had to lean out of the window and tell us, as we continued to stand there watching the ‘pusher of the door button’ moronically repeat her duty over and over, that the carriage was out of order due to a broken window and we’ll have to use the carriage behind it.
That would explain all the yellow and black striped tape covering the window. I was actually looking forward to it blocking out the sun to be honest.
There was the slightly squelchy noise as all eyes rolled in unison before we grudgingly, but with a slightly awkward walk/run, made our way to carriage number two.
What was interesting*, as I took my seat, was the fact that my fellow commuters then tried to access the front carriage from the inside, moaning and tutting when the doors were inevitably locked. It was almost as if the train company KNEW they were going to attempt that.
Clever train company; they thought of everything.
Asking these creatures of habit to find a seat in a different carriage is like asking a man to stop touching his penis or a woman to change her mind.
Possible, but not without a little drama and upset.
You know when a dog takes forever to pick where they want to lay down, and then when they do eventually make a decision they circle and circle and circle until they either finally lay down or get shouted at to lay the fuck down?
It’s the same with commuters.