Bitch bitch bitch bitch
This morning, as I was trying to board the tube, I noticed a woman get up from her seat and shuffle through the throng to the doors with a big bag.
As the train pulled out of the station, I tapped her on the shoulder and said: "Excuse me, are you getting off at the next stop?"
She whirled around, fixed me with what I can only describe as a steely sneer, and said: "No, actually, I'm not."
"Oh, OK." I said. "It's just it looked like you were, and the first set of doors don't open there."
"I KNOW," she grimaced, horribly. "I get this train EVERY DAY."
And with that, she whisked back around and stuck her witchy nose into her mindless old-people's novel.
Perhaps I should mention at this point that she was painfully plain, middle-aged, had terrible scrappy, nothingy dark brown hair and was attired in a ghastly purple raincoat and matching hat that made her look like a ridiculous, past-it Ribena Berry.
It would have been infantile of me to mutter something along the lines of "Fine, I'll never help anyone again then," physically shunt her out of the way at Bank and push in front on the escalators whispering "bitch bitch bitch bitch". But I did it anyway.
And as I exited the station, a nice man working for the Hilton gave me a goody bag containing toffee popcorn, some vouchers and samples of two kinds of washing powder.
Consumerism: one
Good manners: nil
As the train pulled out of the station, I tapped her on the shoulder and said: "Excuse me, are you getting off at the next stop?"
She whirled around, fixed me with what I can only describe as a steely sneer, and said: "No, actually, I'm not."
"Oh, OK." I said. "It's just it looked like you were, and the first set of doors don't open there."
"I KNOW," she grimaced, horribly. "I get this train EVERY DAY."
And with that, she whisked back around and stuck her witchy nose into her mindless old-people's novel.
Perhaps I should mention at this point that she was painfully plain, middle-aged, had terrible scrappy, nothingy dark brown hair and was attired in a ghastly purple raincoat and matching hat that made her look like a ridiculous, past-it Ribena Berry.
It would have been infantile of me to mutter something along the lines of "Fine, I'll never help anyone again then," physically shunt her out of the way at Bank and push in front on the escalators whispering "bitch bitch bitch bitch". But I did it anyway.
And as I exited the station, a nice man working for the Hilton gave me a goody bag containing toffee popcorn, some vouchers and samples of two kinds of washing powder.
Consumerism: one
Good manners: nil
posted by Elizabeth at 7:15 PM
2 Comments:
Public transport brings out the worst in us all. Being packed in your fellow humans beings is orright for a bit but then some bugger gets on who hasn't washed since Elvis went to that great jukebox in the sky or a spotty teenager spends the entire 70 minute journey downloading bloody ringtones.
Speaking of which, some dickwit was advertising siren ringtones on the telly last night and I've got a long train trip next week. May God have mercy on my soul.
I've actually taken to waking up at 6:30 and coming into work an hour early so as to avoid the crush at rush hour! Can't wait for warmer weather and then i'm back on my bike - nothing brings out the rats in the rat race like public transport!
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