I became a commuter. A fucking, train getting commuter.
Now let me just say I haven’t suddenly entered the world of work. I’m 32 years old and have worked forever. So long in fact i’m not sure how i’m not a millionaire and retired yet, but more on that later. The problem is I have always worked close to home. I have always been one of those people who starts work at 9am and leaves at 8.45am, with time in between to drop the kids at school. I was that guy, the one the rest of the office hated because I dragged my smug ass in looking fresh and un-flustered every day whilst sing songing Good Morning and generally just being a moron.
April 2017 I get an email to say I have been successful in my interview for a job at a Scottish University. Brilliant. More money, better prospects, and leaving behind a few mental case ‘bosses’. I am unnerved by becoming someone who relies on public transport. It wont hold me back. In fact it will be better because I won’t need to find parking anywhere. What could possibly piss me off?
Then I started getting the train. It turns out, the train pisses me off. Big time. And here’s why:
- You are at the mercy of the train actually showing up on time. I want the 8am train. Not the 08:03, not the 08:07 and certainly not the ‘Now cancelled’ train. Yeah, that sucks. I’s so sorry a leaf on the track has caused a complete shutdown of the rail system. Hold my backpack whilst I clamber down and save the commuters of West Central Scotland a morning of stress, phone calls to bosses and most importantly the journey on the ‘rail replacement bus’. Hell no.
- Other commuters getting closer to you than your husband or wife has in months. Sorry sir, why are you spooning me?
- There is zero temperature control. I need a coat for outside to fend off hypothermia, yet on the train I am at serious risk of heatstroke.
- The readers. Not all readers. Im partial to a book myself; a nice, small, paperback novel. The readers I mean are the ones who decided to bring the worlds biggest, widest newspaper onto this train then open their arms to full wingspan to read the column about some shitty finance crap? And now thanks to you I cannot get my coat off and will surely pass out. Manslaughter. You don’t get The Times in prison pal.
- There is always one person on a packed train needing off/on at the stop that simply should not exist. In fact, until you started getting this train, you had never even heard of this place so how can it possibly need a train station?! Drive to the next stop pal, you aren’t impressing anyone. Or move. Either is fine with me.
- Pretty much everyone is wearing headphones and therefore trying to politely say ‘excuse me’ doesn’t always work and occasionally minor violence is required which makes you look like the bad guy and not the headphone wearing asshole.
- But because you are wearing your headphones (fuck off), you have not only resorted to violence, but you are now shouting excuse me to someone who cannot hear you and are at risk of the doors closing on your leg/arm/sticky out body parts.
- The ticket guy. What a waste of life. If you are not willing to risk ambush/death by fighting your way through the rush hour passengers then you should get another job. Don’t just stand by the door silently praying for a miracle that will never come. I need to renew my weekly ticket and you had better move your ass down here so I can get it.
- The smell. On a hot day its hot sweaty bodies. Buy some deodorant people. Stick a wee roll on in your pocket and douse your pits with it before leaving the office for the day. On a wet day its that dank, damp smell. You know, when you take a tee out of the tumble drier too early and think fuck it it will be fine but as the day goes on you realise you reek and the tee that you planned on getting 2 uses off will need to be re-washed that evening therefore wasting time, electricity, and most of all, the tropical softener that is so expensive yet you cannot live without. It might actually be more beneficial to just burn it. Save the Surf…
- The getting off of the damn train. Oh sorry pal, did you not see me standing here, that must be the only explanation for you ramming into me in your haste to alight this fucking train. In a rush to get to work? Dying for a fag? Need to see a ticket inspector and want to be front of the queue? On duty with MI5 and about to save the world? No? Then back the fuck off because if you touch me again I will strike you down….OK I wont actually, i’m not an assaulter, but I will glare at you really hard and that’s just as bad.
- And finally, the most annoying of all. The people on the train who believe their bag/rucksack/mobile fucking phone needs its own damn chair. Here you are, packed into the aisle like a swaying sardine, glaring at the ticket inspector, sniffing the guys pits which have lodged into your hairline, sweating like a bitch because its 5000000000 degrees and you are wearing faux fur, and Lady fucking muck has decided her handbag simply cannot cope with sitting on her lap, or the floor (dear God) and so she has sat it on the seat beside her making it unusable for others. Well, for others that aren’t me…’
Excuse me, can you move your bag please’ (smiling politely)
‘Excuse me, I would like that empty seat, can you move your bag please?’ (smiling less politely)
‘I am going to sit here. You can choose whether that my lardy ass on your bag or if you are going to move it because unless it paid for a fucking ticket it needs to fuck off out of my way. Thanks….’
If you are reading this blog and can in any way relate to the points above with any view point other than my own, then its you. You are the asshole that makes my day start like i’m entering the Hunger Games arena. Never knowing if I will survive the journey. You are the guy or gal, both sexes are guilty, who people like me dream of pinging your Beats by Dr Dre off the side of your head so that you hear us when we say ‘excuse me’. You are the person that if I see you on my way home, I will glare at angrily because I haven’t forgiven you for the morning commute and you won’t realise why because you are too wrapped up in your broadsheet to take much notice…Sort yourself out. I’m just not having it.