As another weeks commute is over, what with the heat and delayed trains it has been interesting. So here goes with Part 2 of my commuter diaries.
As a little treat, I thought I would introduce you to the 5 types of commuters who have joined me on my travels to Manchester this week …
The talker Fuckwit – this week there were 2 of them. You know the ones, they catch the train together, an opportunity to chat, to bitch about people in the office, to eat breakfast (noisily). Let’s face it to have a social. NO NO NO…Not in the quiet zone
The phone user Fuckwit – And yes, not one, not two but over the course of 3 days a whole host joined me in the QUIET ZONE. Seriously. It was hot, I mean like stinking hot. Long, long days. A toddler up at 5am because of the heat. And then Sir Talks a Lot enters the train, a delayed train at that! Is it really possible to miss this …?
So the young, cocky ‘Manc’ gets on the train and plonks himself in the quiet zone, two seats away from my quiet little seat. He answers the phone, talking louder than I’ve heard in the last 12 months, swearing, laughing. OMG. People start to huff, no one speaks up. So I took a deep breath, stood up and …
Me: ‘Excuse me, you are in the quiet zone, can you take your call outside’
Fuckwit: ‘Do you work on this train or somefing’
Me: ‘No I do not. That does not matter. I am sitting in the quiet zone. Now take your call outside of the carriage’
Eventually he stepped outside. Not before walking past me and wait for it called me a ‘cow’. Ouch
I often feel like I need to be the one policing who steps through the Quiet Zone doors.
The Sleeper Fuckwit – I do not catch a particularly early train. So, when I’m greeted with a sleeper, who snores, legs strewn across two seats, sometimes horizontal I find myself in shock. Your bed is for sleep. The train is not. Wake up. At this point I’m thinking of when Lil G woke me at 5am by shaking me and saying ‘wake wakey’ mummy.
The Seat Hog Fuckwit – you know the one, positioning themselves or their bags, files, or laptop across the table or worse still the aisle seat. With only one plausible reason ‘prevention’ – move yourself is all I want to say. Move yourself.
The Stinky One Fuckwit
If I have the pleasure of sitting near one of these, which I often do, like flies around s*&”, then I’m left feeling like I need to pour a glass of wine. It’s o’clock somewhere after all. I understand that you cannot always control the amount of garlic in a dish, however you can control your body odour, you can buy deodorant, you can wash yourself, you can brush your teeth and you most definitely can sit elsewhere.
And there you have it, my Commuter Diaries [part 2]. It has been a blast. I’ll be seeing you.