This evening, I was one of many unfortunate commuters who didn't read the screen properly when I went to catch the train. Six carriages not eight. Which means: don't stand at the end of the platform because you'll have to run like a fool when the train ends 10 metres away up the platform.
The fool I am, I ran and ran and got onto the train last.
That carriage was packed like sardines, because of the many other fools who also ran and ran and just made it on before me. Ho hum, where do I sit? Will I even be able to sit? I must sit.
So, I muscle my way through and go downstairs.
Some room hog is using his backpack as a quasi-passenger. I stare him down and demand:
Can I sit?
He moves his bag to reveal a space just wide enough for me. It's covered in some unidentifiable brown and white funk. I examine it suspiciously. Has it been stuck to the seat for some time? As in, is it one of those lumpy things which come about when someone has jammed a chewed up piece of gum onto the seat, but the gradual drying effect of dust, air and people sitting on it has meant that it can no longer do any harm? Or is it recently acquired- off the floor of the platform from where this room hog has just come? These things are so hard to determine in the space of 5 seconds. My judgement falters. All I think is:
Do I sit? Should I sit?? I must sit.
I debate whether I should brush the seat off with my hand. But then I think, if I do that, I look like one of those clean freaks who needs everything to be sanitised within an inch of their lives. Admittedly, I am a bit of a germaphobe, but where everyone is vying for that elusive empty seat, I don't think anyonewill appreciate my hesitation.
So I swallow hard and sit down.
The entire train ride I just think: What will my skirt look like when I get up?
I wait and wait. I ponder, I grimace.
Eventually it's my stop and I get up.
I look down back at the seat with bated breath.
No more brown and white funk.
Only clean shiny blue train seat.
The funk wasn't old/permanent/no harm doing funk. But fresh new funk that was now on my skirt.
What a disaster.
I quickly spin my skirt around so that it's on back to front, thunder up the stairs, down the hill and onto the bus before anyone can yelp out: "Oohh she got something on her ar*se!"
No more brown and white funk.
Only clean shiny blue train seat.
The funk wasn't old/permanent/no harm doing funk. But fresh new funk that was now on my skirt.
What a disaster.
I quickly spin my skirt around so that it's on back to front, thunder up the stairs, down the hill and onto the bus before anyone can yelp out: "Oohh she got something on her ar*se!"
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