Train’d Monkeys

Over the years I’ve noticed a few habits adopted by the idiots I’m forced to endure every day on the trains (or ‘commuters’ as they’re better known).  A lot of these habits have become such commonplace that I usually can’t be bothered to blog about them, or I simply forget.

However, this morning there were three happening all at once and my Punch-O-Meter’s needle was twitching in the red zone.

Punchometer

See?

Dangerously close.

So I’m taking time out to vent about these habits that leave me craving the sweet sound of knuckles on face.

 

1. The Multitasker

This is the person who, whilst having a conversation with someone else on the train, is also reading their phone or tablet.  Even though they’re (thankfully) not talking to me, it’s still really rude and they don’t make any attempt to hide it.

checking texts

It’s bad enough that they’re flapping their jaws while I’m trying to sleep or watch a movie, but to be doing it and not remaining committed to the conversation they’re having is like getting a drum kit for your birthday and then playing it out of rhythm, like Yugoslavian Jazz. 

If you’re going to annoy me at least have the decency to do it properly.

 

2. Casual Viewers

I’m a bit of a viewing Nazi when it comes to TV and movies.  If you’ve made a decision to sit down and watch something, then sit the fuck down and watch it. There are certain things you should never do, especially when I’m in the vicinity.

These include:

  • Talking to me.
  • Talking to someone else.
  • Talking at all.
  • Using your phone (for ANYTHING!).
  • Leaving the room without pausing it (at home obviously)
  • Eating and paying more attention to your food than the screen

The woman sat next to me on the train this morning was watching some boring shit on her tablet, but was also moronically scrolling through her Facebook newsfeed on her phone.  I use the word ‘watching’ loosely as she didn’t actually look up from her phone for almost the entire journey into London, which was an hour.

I thought about all the money spent hiring writers, producers, directors (first and second unit), actors, extras and production staff, plus all the time taken perfecting every line of every draft of the script to keep the plot engaging, every camera angle to capture the subtle nuances of the actors’ performances, the scouting for locations, the permissions needed to shoot in these locations, the time spent in principle photography, all the post production, the special effects, music, overdubs, Foley dubs, the editing process to keep the right pace, the test audiences to ensure it will satisfy the masses and bring in the bucks, the premieres, the red carpets, the press junkets; all of this wasted on some bint ‘liking’ a picture of a kitten.

It really grinds on me.  Can you tell?

Then, when she’d stopped mindlessly scrolling through the pointless crap on her newsfeed and sucked in her drool, she then spent ages rewinding what she had been ‘watching’ in an attempt to find the part where she’d tuned out.  To be honest, I don’t think this woman was ever fully tuned in.

text movie

And finally,

 

3. The Aisle Sitter

This one has always confused me. 

It’s the idiot who gets on the train, sits in an aisle seat and leaves the window seat vacant.

Why?

aisle prick

Inevitably someone else will get on and want to sit down, so rather than simply (and sensibly) moving over to the window, they make a big performance of stopping what they’re doing (sometimes tutting and sighing in the process) and awkwardly standing up in the aisle (stopping other people from getting past) to allow the new arrival access to the seat by the window.

This is time consuming and makes absolutely no sense.  It’s a commuter train which means this happens EVERY day, and EVERY day they do the same thing.  I’ve seen it with my own eyes.  Same dickheads, same thing; every day.

If they don’t want to be disturbed, then sit by the window, or find a seat next to someone who already has.

These are supposed to be intelligent people, right?  I mean, they’re wearing suits and stuff.

I’m reminded of a quote from Tim Minchin:

“We’re just fucking monkeys in shoes”

monkey platform

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You get me innit Bruv yeah?

There are four twats on the train sat at the table across the aisle from me.

All four are dressed like Carlton from ‘The Fresh Prince Of Bel End’ er, I mean ‘Bel Air’, but talk like the chavvy rudeboys they are failing to be.

There is a funny smell in the carriage and the conversation (ha ha, ‘conversation’) starts:

“What is dat smell innit?”

“No idea bruv, yeah?”

“Man, that smells is for real, I smelt it on the way up, innit?”

This really pisses me off. Do they realise “innit” is a slang version of “isn’t it”?

They have no idea how much I’d like to punch each of them in the face.

That’s reasonable.

ISN’T IT?

The accidental pugilist

Another normal* morning on London’s fine underground network system.  The masses and I were stood on the platform awaiting the next oversized Pringles can to arrive and whisk us away.

Soon enough it arrived and the doors wheezed open as we all stood back to allow the shuffling morons off.  We made sure to wear our customary scowls as they did so, before pushing and shoving onto the train; desperate to fill the void left in their wake.

As we crammed on I noticed that the woman in front of me had a shitload of space in front of her, but wasn’t moving into it.  I’m not sure she realised the loud voice over the tannoy telling us all to “move down inside the carriage and use all available space” applied to her.

Those straddling the gap between the train and the station did.

I concluded that common sense should “move down inside the brain and use all available space”, but quickly dismissed that as futile and instead tried to push past her.

She wasn’t having any of it.

I’m 6 feet tall and this little twat was only about 5 feet tall, so it was inevitable I was going to succeed in pushing past her.  This was a further indication that common sense eluded her.

Never before have the words “Mind The Gap” been so appropriate.

Despite her best efforts I shoved past her and lifted my arm to grab the handrail bolted into the ceiling.  In the process of pushing past this brainless bint and raising my hand at the same time, I succeeded in punching a seated man in the side of the head.

Yes, that’s right; I punched a stranger.

This wasn’t a light brushing or a mild scuff; it was a full on, four knuckled, unrestrained smack across the side of his head.  In fact, the force of it was strong enough to cause his head to jerk wildly to the side.

I looked down, ready to apologise profusely and lay blame with the stubborn bitch who should’ve been the one to punch him instead of me, when I saw that he hadn’t even looked up from his phone.

Nothing.

No reaction.

What the fuck?

He just sat there and continued playing Angry Birds as if he gets punched by strangers all the time.

“So how many was it today Dave?”

“Only 3.  Although I did get a headbutt in the nuts from a midget”

I’m sure there’s a joke in here somewhere about a punchline.

oops punch

*who am I kidding?