Commuting is really, super amazing and fun. Said no one. Ever.
This is a blog post about basically nothing other than my strong feelings towards getting to and from work. I moan a lot about my journey to the office. You might have picked up on my negative feelings (of extreme hatred and venom) towards the tube and my arch nemesis, the district line, if you’ve read this blog before. Don’t get me wrong, when the tube works, and it’s not so packed you have mold yourself to the shape of the door, it’s great. Like, totally efficient and the easiest way to get around London for sure.
However, when it doesn’t work how it should, which is fairly often, I just can’t deal. How does anyone deal? WHY CAN’T LIFE BE ONE GIANT HOLIDAY? I mean, we could arrange some sort of commuter uprising. Of course we won’t. We’ll continue shelling out an obscene amount of money for a sub-standard service and putting up with touching and smelling the breakfast of fellow commuters while apologizing when we accidentally fall into someone or elbow someone square in the face. Sometimes as I squeeze onto a carriage at Fulham Broadway at about 8:10 in the morning, I feel my emotions change from ‘tired and a bit confused?’ to ‘I feel like I could spit fire.’ It’s an emotional rollercoaster.
Some days the extreme anger and injustice turns into hilarity. I love nothing more than a cracking excuse as to why I can’t get where I’m going or why I’m being turfed off of the train at a random stop because the service is terminating for no apparent reason. My favourite one of late was being told the driver had gone missing so the train couldn’t leave the station. Totally reasonable. There’s also a fond place in my heart for the morning the driver announced that the service was terminating for reasons unknown and there may or may not be another tube along shorty. That’s fine babes, I’ll just lay down on the platform and wait for death.
I mean, what is life? My journey to my current job is a good 11 tube stops shorter than my previous but still often takes the same amount of time. It’s so great. The other day I saw a man punch a train because he couldn’t fit on it, and I’m surprised people didn’t clap. I could see a sort of mutual respect from the other commuters as they watched a man assault an inanimate object. This is what London commuting does to you. I could get a bus, but it takes about an hour and a half. I could walk, but it’s bloody far. I could cycle but I have really dodgy hips and bad knees and I’m terrified because LORRIES. The struggle is real.
This morning I watched a man shoot snot out of his nose onto the floor of the carriage I was in. Happy Tuesday. Pass the wine.