The suited guy at the other table on the train keeps licking his lips.
And I don’t mean in a normal ‘stop them from being dry’ kind of way, but more like a ‘trying to be erotic, really going for it like a child with jam around its mouth and now the area between his bottom lip and chin are actually glistening in the fluorescent lights with gross man-dribble’ kind of way.
Disturbing.
The train I’m on had been sat in the starting station for 20 minutes with no real explanation as to why (which came as no surprise).
What I found amusing were the huffer puffers; the commuters who feel it necessary to huff and puff to show they’re annoyed and inconvenienced. I swear these people have the deluded idea that the more they huff and the louder they puff, the sooner the train will leave.
Anyway, the amusing thing about these carbon dioxide producing dickheads and their vocal exhalations is when their overwhelming need to ‘beat the system’ backfires.
Allow me to clarify.
The guard’s cockney voice came on the tannoy to apologise for the delay and that we’ll be underway at some point, but he didn’t know when. The HPs all HP’d in unison and started filing off the train like some trade union strike.
This was clearly in an attempt to ‘stick it to the man’ by jumping on a later train that will no doubt leave the station earlier than this one.
No sooner had about 8 people got off, the doors shut and the train pulled away.
Ha ha! Gutted.
The plants are going to have to photosynthesise for England tonight.
The speakers on the train carriage just had a funny turn during the automated announcement; it made her voice sound like a Dalek.
I won’t lie. I’m a bit scared.
I came across a realisation this morning as I walked to the train station; that more often that not we are confused between fantasy and reality. In fact, I’m so convinced of this that I’m going to start a section entitled “Fantasy Vs. Reality”…of which this is part 1.
Allow me to explain.
Tonight I’m off to a friend’s house for the evening to play video games and probably gorge myself on dough bin lids covered in churned milk, plants and processed animal flesh…or ‘pizza’ as they’re better known. It’s going to be a proper old school video games night; you know…actually sat side by side on a sofa, rather than over the interweb. As a result I have to pack an overnight bag as I’m, well, staying overnight (duh!).
But I digress…
So this morning I walked to the station with a mini suitcase on wheels (I know it’s only for one night, but i’m not a tart; I had a complete change of clothes for work tomorrow, plus trainers, plus toiletries, plus Xbox games and a controller); rumbling along the road at 7am like a small Boeing 747…so I’m sure I didn’t wake anyone who had their bedroom windows open. I then got to thinking about negotiating the London Underground with my case.
All the people I’ve seen in the past with cases get on my tits because they just have no spatial awareness and they drag their cases behind them like horny dogs on very long leashes trying to take out the legs of anyone in the vicinity with the vain hope of buggering those who fall. Whatever happens, I’m not going to be what the train station posters call a “Wheelie Wally’…(or ‘Wheelie Wanker’ as I like to affectionately call them).
Then I made it to the station, stood on the platform and patiently waited for my train. It soon arrived and Fido and I boarded without issue.
Then I heard it…
Clip clop clip clop clip clop…
…the door light on the train was flashing and the beeping had begun to indicate the doors were about to slide shut…
…CLIP CLOP CLIP CLOP CLIP CLOP….
…the doors began to close…
…CLIP CLOP CLIP -silence-
A woman appeared from nowhere! She was small, unassuming, and was on board the train before the doors had finished closing, complete with big coat and quite a large rucksack. How the hell did she do that? She didn’t even touch the sides! (Words than can reduce a man to tears under alternative circumstances by the way)
Amazing.
She calmly scoped the carriage for a seat, found one and sat down. She didn’t even look up, she didn’t seem harassed or flustered in any way like it happens all the time; she’s like some kind of anoraked ninja.
Indiana Jones would’ve been proud.
I found a seat, sat down (otherwise I’d just be a weird guy who finds seats) and thought about the situations with my case and the slippery woman.
Here are the fantasy and reality of each.
Situation:
You strut through the station or terminal with your wheeled case behind you, proudly displaying it like a slightly over smug flight attendant.
Fantasy: Everyone looks at you with both wonder and jealousy as they’re curious of where You’re going and who you’re seeing. Let the man through…he has a case!
Reality: Everyone is avoiding you like the plague because you’re going to get under everyone’s feet. What kind of penis takes a fully packed case onto the tube in rush hour? I hope I don’t get stuck standing next to you. Idiot.
Situation:
Your train is pulling in so you make a run for it. You clatter along the platform like a deranged moose and, as you hear the beeping of the closing doors, jump on the train at the first available opportunity. You make it.
Fantasy: You not only made it on board, but you didn’t even get bumped by the doors, resulting in a flawless finish. You’re not out of breath at all and others were there to witness your awesome Hollywood entrance. No need to look around for looks of admiration and awe, you already know they’re there. Just sit down and be confident in the knowledge that you’ll be talked about around campfires for years to come.
Reality: Most people either didn’t notice or don’t care. The rest who saw you just think you’re a lucky sod because you shouldn’t have been lazy in the first place and been at the station on time, like they all were. In fact, a few if them wished you’d missed the train, just to teach you a lesson. They’re now just pissed off you didn’t.
And they know you know it…because you’re avoiding eye contact.
Yeah, that’s it, go and sit down you twat.
I’ve just watched the woman opposite me on the train attempt to take headphones out of her purse.
She sat herself down, settled in, adjusted her scarf and put her immense handbag on her lap.
She then reached, elbow deep, into her handbag and produced a pair of (massive) white Dr.Dre Beats headphones; well half of them…the other half had snagged on something and was as reluctant to get out of the bag as I was out of bed this morning.
Finally she produced the entire monstrosity, and her keys with it. She put the keys back in her bag and started to pull on the headphone cord.
Out came her purse and a pack of chewing gum. Back in they go.
She pulled a bit more; ah her keys again, and what appeared to be another scarf tangled around the cord.
After about a minute of patiently unravelling this evil spaghetti of rubberised cord and scarf, she pulled again but was faced with a knot in the cord, and some sunglasses. Oh, and her keys.
She had the patience of a saint as by now I would’ve thrown the bag across the carriage, spilling its contents all over the place (which would’ve effectively solved the issue, and most likely decapitated a complete stranger)
Finally she found the jack end of the cord and plugged it into her iPhone.
Success!
She then took out a hairband, created some elaborate twisty bun in her hair and held it in place with the band (I assume so she could get the headphones on her head).
Then, and with a noticeably smug smile on her face, she put the mammoth headphones on.
She looked like a Cyberman.
She then sat back to enjoy her music. Alas, she hadn’t emancipated enough cord from the bag and the resulting tension pulled the bastard headphones off her head enough that the hairband came off, her hair went everywhere and the ‘L’ side of the headphones were now sat on her cheek with the ‘R’ on the back of her neck.
She shot me a glance to see if I’d noticed, but I was looking out the window so clearly I hadn’t.
But I had.
Gutted.
A woman on the train has just talked loudly on the phone all the way from London.
Strike one.
She’s finally shut the fuck up and now she’s texting with her keyboard clicks on full volume!
Annoying much??
Strike two.
If she picks her nose and eats it I’m gong to punch her.
As many of you may already know, I’m not a fan of two people waffling at full volume on the train about absolutely fuck all, directly opposite me at a table.
Well, this evening is no exception as the two ladies opposite me are gasbagging about absolutely everything from how cute their dogs are, what’s on at the cinema, X-Factor, number plates and how great their fellas are.
I bet their fellas’ opinion differs.
Oh dear lord, they’ve just pulled the “I really must take your number” out of the bag. Kill me, kill me now.
What makes it even worse is that I’ve established from their perpetual drivel (like picking through cow shit with a toothpick) that they live in the same town as me. That means I’ve got this dribbly bollocks for my entire journey.
Joyous.
Oh, here comes the “how’s your mum?”
I’ll tell you how your mum is 😉
I think I might have to beat them to death with their own handbags, although that might be a bit much don’t you think?
So here I sit, listening to these blathering bints relentlessly chinwagging on and on amongst forced laughter and awkwardly checking their phones for messages they just don’t have.
And as yet, no numbers have been exchanged.
So full of shit.
I’m sat on the train late at night and a guy has just got on and parked himself next to me.
He’s not a small guy. In fact, I’m now getting very intimate with the window as I’m pushed up against it.
But the weird thing about Shrek here is the way he’s breathing. Every breath has that strain like he’s bending out a fresh biscuit in his shorts. His massive, massive shorts.
Any minute now I’m expecting him to shout “finished!” followed by that warm pungent odour of fresh man manure. And I think to myself, whilst wedged up against the upholstery, that by the looks of him it won’t be a small chipolata affair.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not mocking obesity as I myself was a lot larger up until about a year ago, but logic tells me that the more food he puts in, the more poo he’ll put out. Fact.
So what if he really is squeezing one out? What if my suspicions are correct? Then what?
Shit.
The guy who’s just sat down opposite me on the train stinks of cigarettes.
What did he do, smoke a whole carton and then wash his clothes with the filters?
That’s it mate, chew a piece of gum…that’ll take away the smell.
(Rolls eyes)
This morning, as I made it onto the train platform, my train pulled in bereft of passengers and filled with row upon row of empty seats. It’s moments like this that make commuting tolerable; the joy felt when you know you’re about to get another hour of slumber.
And just as my 12 carriage bed came to a stop and the enterprise doors opened I heard a “hello stranger” from behind me. I turned around and there was one of my neighbours.
“Oh hello, how are you?” I replied, uninterested in her answer.
“I’m fine thanks; are you catching the train?”
– pause –
It’s at this point that you need to understand how my brain works. There is a scene in ‘The Terminator’ when Mr Schwarzenegger is sitting on a cheap hotel bed doing Terminatory stuff when the hotel manager starts bashing on the door shouting, “hey buddy, you got a dead cat in there or what?” through a chewed up cigar. We then see Arnie’s viewpoint and he is presented with a choice of the following replies:
Yes/No
Or what?
Go away
Please come back later
Fuck you, asshole
Fuck you
As you’d expect, he chooses the penultimate (and best) response. It’s a hilarious and memorable scene. If you haven’t seen it then shame on you. Rent it, watch it, come back.
Anyway, my brain works in a similar way, especially when faced with a comment or question that is so ballsachingly retarded (right up there with “are you still reading that book?”, “did those tattoos hurt?” and “are you really going to eat that?”). Often I also go for the penultimate (and best) response. On this occasion I went for “I am indeed, where are you off to?”
(Please don’t say London, please don’t say London, please don’t say London)
“London”
“Great” (shit)
Don’t get me wrong; she’s a nice enough woman, but I don’t really know her that well. Plus I really, REALLY wanted to sleep. Now, instead, we’re sat opposite each other at a table in a confined metal tube going 80mph towards our nation’s capital. I miss the old slam-door trains….I could’ve just jumped off.
The conversation was painful. I mean painful. It consisted mostly of “how’s work?”, “I see you’ve got a new fence”, “what are you up to at the weekend?”, “how’s work?”, “ah, the next stop is….”, “I saw your other half the other day”, “I’m off to London for a training course” and “how’s work?”.
It was exhausting….which isn’t ideal for someone already in desperate need of sleep.
I tried all the tactics in the book to initiate silence, including taking massive interest in the passing scenery, checking my phone for messages, playing with my penis, etc…but it was all fruitless in stopping her relentlessly inane chatter. We even got onto the subject of how boring my commute must be every day. If she only knew.
The whole situation worsened when other commuters started filling the carriage. The suit next to me opened a book, the suit opposite me opened a broadsheet and STILL she continued with awkwardly selected topics of conversation. The issue now was the fact that I was now becoming ‘those people’ who don’t shut up talking on trains when you want to read (or sleep!). It’s not like I was doing it on purpose! I wanted to stop, but I felt that no-one believed me despite the fact that I now had my face fully pushed up against the glass to demonstrate my total and utter interest in the passing scenery….which at this point was the inside of a tunnel.
Fail.
We were starting to get ‘the look’ from those around us. I know ‘the look’ as I’ve perfected it myself, usually just before the blog that inevitably would follow.
I have, however, learned something new from this morning’s experience. The face I make when I’m willing someone to shut the fuck up appears to be exactly the same as the one I make when I’m totally and utterly interested in everything they have to say.
I really have to work on that.
Train cancelled this morning.
As annoying as that is, I can’t help but be amused at the identical behaviour being displayed by my fellow commuters.
1. Look up and see the yellow scrolling billboard.
2. Stop.
3. Look around with a “for fuck’s sake, are you serious?” expression.
3. Try to get a “I know how you feel mate; I share your pain as I too am plagued by this turn of events” look from another commuter.
4. Fail to get any form of acknowledgement.
5. Get Your phone out and text the boss.
6. Take a photo of the scrolling billboard with the word ‘cancelled’ on it (as your boss probably had no issues getting into work this morning and has already been there 3 hours)
7. Walk along the platform shaking your head and huffing/tutting loudly to make sure others know just how inconvenienced you are.
8. Post it on your blog.
😉
For someone like me, having a decent 3G signal is important as I like to write Facebook statuses (or is it Stati?) and/or blog entries whilst travelling on our nation’s joke…er, i mean trains.
So why is it so hit and miss??
It pisses me off that getting a half decent signal in London is as challenging as a job application form to a Jeremy Kyle contestant.
What exacerbates it further is the fact that I’m showing 3G with FULL signal and yet I’m still greeted with that little circling icon and the word ‘Loading’ next to it.
It’s lying to me. I know it’s lying to me.
“You’re not loading, you little turd” I think to myself, “and i’m going to prove it!”
So I go into my iPhone settings, switch Airplane Mode on, wait 10 seconds, switch it off again and like magic….full signal and 3G again. Only this time it actually works.
“Awesome” I say to myself (quietly of course, as I’m on the train and I don’t want to be ‘that guy’ who talks to himself and subsequently becomes the focus of someone’s Facebook status or blog).
So I write my musings, read them back, chuckle a bit, corect aany spleling miistekes, take out the comment about someone’s mum, proof read it again, reconsider the mum comment and slide it back in (well, it’s how she likes it), chek teh speling agian, and then post it.
Oh….nope…..no 3G. That’s because I pressed send at the PRECISE moment we entered a tunnel (insert mum comment here if you like). It’s just bloody typical that I get no signal at the point I need it!
Ah, we’re out of the tunnel now. Any minute I’ll get my 3G back. I mean, we’re not in the middle of Cambodia here; this is just outside London….
…..any minute now…..
…..any minute……
Aha! Signal!
Another tunnel.
Fuck.
Ok, I can wait. I can play Trainyard or look on faceboo….ah, no I can’t.
Ok, we’re out of the tunnel again.
….any minute…..
…..aaaaaaaany minute now……
Aha! Signal!
“Tickets please”
What? Now? Sigh, hang on! (Puts phone on the table and fumbles in his bag, then pockets, then bag again; finds ticket and shows it to the ‘cheery’ chap armed with his ticket bitey clip thingy)
“Thank you”
“Fuck you”
“Pardon sir?”
“Nothing….”
He walks away…
Ok, now lets post this bastard. (Presses ‘post’)
Circling icon…(deep breath)
Back into Airplane Mode.
Aaaaaaaaaand……..done!
I hope you’ve appreciated the shit I’ve been through for you to read this!
The guy opposite me on the train has got the biggest face in the world. It’s proper huge, like Lurch from the Addams family, or Frankenstein’s monster!
If he headbutted me I’d have bruises from my head to my knees. It would be like running into a statue on Easter Island.
I also think his glasses are two plasma screens connected with scaffolding poles. Yep, I think I can make out the words Samsung and Sony on them.
At first I thought he had regular headphones in, but they’re full size speakers wedged into a lorry’s tyre inner tubes.
His neck must be knackered.
Clip clop clip clop clip clop CLIP CLOP CLIP CLOP CLIPCLOPCLIPCLOP!
That’s the sound of ME running for the train like a deranged donkey; bag and brolly flailing in my wake as I slalom shuffling commuters like a survivor in a zombie apocalypse. I think I took out some kid with my bag, but its hard to tell…I mean this blood and snot could’ve come from anywhere, right? Right?? And whose tooth is this?
Anyway…
Why am I so late? Well let me tell you.
I drove to the station this morning in the realisation that my monthly travel card had expired and I needed another one. At least, I was hoping the police would believe that when I have to explain how I achieved the 13 minute drive in 7.
But that aside…
I then power minced from the car to the station. I can’t call it a power walk, because it was that kind of walk that’s a little faster than a power walk; it’s almost a run, but not. It’s what the professional walkers do. Hmm, maybe I’ll rewrite this paragraph.
I walked to the station like a toned Olympic athlete, and prided myself on getting there super early so I had time to get my ticket.
Queue.
Massive queue.
Shit.
So I took my place at the back of this miserable and unmoving conga line. And as I’m stood there among the zombies, I could hear the requests from the shufflers at the front who had made it to the coveted ticket window. Amongst the genuine requests for tickets, I also heard this little gem; “Can I have a ticket for tomorrow please?”
What?? Are you effing KIDDING me?? You’re not even travelling today?
There was also this little delight; “How much is it to Croydon?”. Normal enough, except this penis wasn’t even buying a ticket…he just wanted to know the price!
Of course, none of this was done in stasis; the clock was still ticking and it was getting incredibly close to my train pulling in. One woman in front of me must’ve been in the same situation as she kept huffing, puffing and sighing heavily whilst constantly looking at her watch.
Reminds me of sex with my ex.
So I finally make it to the sacred fenestrated wall and I’m done in under 20 seconds. People behind me are clapping and cheering; one woman is crying; someone gives me their baby to kiss. It was emotional.
Ok, that didn’t actually happen, but we all thought it.
I turn on my heel and bolt for the platform barrier, which is where I began this tale.
I literally run all the way up the slope, onto the platform, straight onto the train (as the door closes right behind me) and into a seat. What a great feeling; made even better by seeing a woman do the same behind me, but she was too late; stopped by Mr Jobsworth on the platform.
I’m not great at lip reading, but I think she just said “you can’t! You’re far, king sheet and can’t!” Dunno what that means.
Her snot nosed kid didn’t look impressed. It might be because he had a nose bleed, and he seemed to be missing a tooth.
Just starting to doze off on the train when we pull into a station and loads of people get on. Now this is fine as it’s an every day occurrence…however, today as a woman walks past there’s a voice from the seat behind me that says “Karen??”
She turns around, clearly recognising the owner of the annoyingly plummy voice.
Woman – “oh my god how are you??”
Man – “I’m fine, how are you?”
Woman – “so good to see you, how ARE you?” (Which, by the way, is the same question)
Man – “yeah I’m good thanks, how are things?” (Again, same question)
Woman – “shall we sit here behind Dan and talk super loud so he can’t sleep?”
Man – “absolutely, and if possible let’s try and disturb all these other commuters who are also clearly trying to sleep, or read, or work”
She sits next to him.
Woman – “blah blah blah”
Man – “blah blah blah”
Blah blah blah blah blah ha ha ha ha! blah blah blah blah oh I know! blah blah blah blah really? blah blah blah ha ha ha! blah blah blah…..
Ad nauseam.
Oh the looks they’re getting. Oh the stares. Oh the multitude of headphones being fished out of bags and pockets to drown the endless noise emitting from these waffling wankers.
The headlines tomorrow will read: ‘commuter strangles couple with headphones’
I hope they do it quietly; I’m trying to sleep…
Picture the scene.
A curvy young black woman sat next to me on the train, with FAR too much foundation, more extensions than than a call centre and hoop earrings a parrot could sit in.
She has 2 phones that are both on FULL VOLUME which she keeps checking every 3 seconds just in case she’s missed a text; switching them back and forth in her hand like a croupier with a deck of fucking annoying beeping cards. The multitude of messages are coming in thick and fast and here’s nothing like the pop pop pop of the keyboard as she types awkwardly with 2 inch blue fingernails. This is in addition to the click click click of her talons hitting the glass.
Of course, the noise of the phones have to be at FULL VOLUME so she can hear them over her Dr Dre Beats headphones banging out some generic R&B for all of us to enjoy. I mean, shes looking AT these phones without blinking, AND she keeps them from going into standby (the phones are screaming “come on luv, let us rest, we’re knackered!!”), so why the FULL VOLUME?
Also, she MUST be serious about her music. I mean, Dr Dre Beats headphones right? Why else would you spend triple figures on headphones?
THEY’RE FUCKING HEADPHONES!
Ah, she can’t hear me. Maybe I’ll text her….
On the trains there are these huge great toilets with an automatic curved sliding door, not dissimilar to the turbolift door on the bridge of the USS Enterprise (which completely redefines “captain’s log” for me).
These doors take an age to close which is useful if you’re crowning. So imagine my amusement when i saw this…
A guy resembling a cross between Napoleon Dynamite and Wally from the ‘where’s Wally’ books was walking past the toilet just as the snail paced door was closing for some trembly-kneed commuter. On this occasion I knew exactly where this Wally was going as he was so preoccupied on some bloke’s iPad he started to veer towards the toilet. He hit the sliding door with the centre of his bespectacled face.
Full on.
Loudly.
I laughed. I mean I really LOL’d.
Thankfully I’m reading Simon Pegg’s book at the moment, so I had a scapegoat, but it did very little to mask the dribbling wreck I became having witnessed this beautifully crafted moment.
He then apologised to the door which was priceless, as he fumbled to straighten his glasses…and his tattered pride.
I don’t think I was the only person who pissed themselves.
So Nick and I take our seat at our table on the train and wonder who’ll be sat next to us. Then 2 young attractive ladies join us. We exchange a look that says “result!”.
Then they open their mouths.
It’s all ‘yah yah..” and “absolutely daaaahling”. And it’s non stop. Theres not a microsecond gap of silence at all! And they keep saying “L&D” and “strategy”.
Nick and I exchange a look that says “oh for fuck’s sake, really?”
We have this for 3 hours. I swear I just saw Nick kiss his knuckles.
Add to this the gravelly voiced toddler behind us who clearly smokes 40 a day and our disappointment is complete.
Oh, hang on…a screaming baby.
Where’s the beer carriage?
I know everything about the Canadian woman who’s sat two tables behind me. In fact, everyone on the train does…in every carriage, including the driver.
My god she talks loud, and lots, and punctuates every sentence with “I was like….” and “oh my god…” and “he was like…” and “I know, right?” and “she was like…”
The guy she’s talking to is English and really quiet. At least, I think he’s quiet; he might be normal volume…who knows against this vocal avalanche of cliches!
Also, I don’t think she’s breathing between sentences so its likely she’ll be stopping soon.
I bet she doesn’t fart. She doesn’t close her mouth long enough to build up any pressure.
I know, right?
Clip clop clip clop clip clop CLIP CLOP CLIP CLOP! That’s the sound of a business man running, getting closer behind me.
I move to the side as the puffing blur of black polyester whizzes by. His train has just pulled in and he’s still got 50 metres and a bridge (complete with up and down stairs) to navigate. Other people are similarly moving left and right like traffic to an ambulance in order to allow Insain Bolt here the chance to miss his train in spectacular fashion.
This should be interesting.
I want to scream “come on sunshine, you can make it!”, but there’s also that little bit of me that wants him to miss it (Mwah hah hah!). I prepare a mild smirk just in case he does…
He makes it to the platform and disappears from view behind the train. Did he make it? Place your bets, place your bets!
The train pulls out and…and…he’s still stood there. Teased by the train standing in the station when he gets there but the doors were locked and the guard looks on all powerful and officious. Been there. Gutted. Ha ha.
I, like many others overtaken by this optimistically deluded Forrest Gump, walk past him with that ‘bet you’re glad you ran now eh?’ look on our faces as he desperately tries to style out his heavy panting. He’s leaning casually against the fence, texting with one hand trying to mask his overwhelming need to drain the town of oxygen by ‘gently’ breathing through his nose. It’s like trying to quickly down a pint through a straw. If it were me I’d be on all fours, wheezing and being dramatic.
I’m just saying.
Ready thyself for my prepared smirk….
Head In A Blender 