*Does not draw attention to the fact that she has not updated the blog for a couple of weeks.*
Dear Fellow and Prospective London Commuters,
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Maaarfer. (Not really, but because I live in South London, people generally can't pronounce their th-s here, and for some reason they also tend to elongate the ar sound. Maybe they're pirates. I don't know.) I commute through London every weekday, because for reasons now unfathomable to me, I decided that it would be fun to get a job a gazillion-and-one miles away from where I live. I start my journey and everyone around me is an Arsenal fan; I end my journey and suddenly everyone supports Chelsea. It's wrong.
Anyway, you may have seen me about: I tend to wear flat shoes so that it's easier to bomb my way up the escalators, I have my earphones permanently welded inside my ears even though 90% of the time I have a headache (because the alternative is to listen to people talking on their mobiles about cheese), and I always look pissed off - incidentally, because I am pissed off. If you haven't seen me, it's because some seven-foot giant with bad personal hygiene is pushed up against me on the tube, with little to no regard to my existence. If you see him, do me a favour and tell him to please excuse the pipsqueak standing beneath him (i.e. me). I would do it myself but, apparently, I'm just a pipsqueak.
As you may have already guessed, there are some of you whom I'm not best pleased with at the moment. I know, I know: you overslept, the iron burned your shirt, you were about to leave the house when your poo, without warning, decided it was time to play beek-a-boo; I understand that you guys and gals may have reason to act like total eejits half the time, but for future reference, please bear in mind that the following behaviour is likely, at some point down the line, to elicit a slap from yours truly. (And yeah, I may be a pipsqueak, but these hands have got hormonal fuel behind them.)
1. Eating. Alright, if you're starving hungry, skipped breakfast or lunch or whatever, by all means, go ahead and eat: I'm not about to sit here and order you to slowly die. But please refrain from eating smelly food, or eating food loudly, or dropping it on me. Chew with your mouth closed, and when you're done, do not sit across from me and burp in what you think is a discreet manner into your hand. It really is not discreet. I can smell it.
2. Eating one another. There really is no excuse for this, people. I get that train stations are a place where people separate from one another, and at times you may feel a desperate longing for the person you are about to depart from - but it's kinda rude. Because of your inexplicable urge to suck someone else's face, we all have to make a fat-arsed effort to go around you without accidentally touching or bumping into you. I'm not sure if the no-touching rule is because it's rude (us rude? Oh, that's rich.) to make physical contact with two people while they're being all intimate, or because we might catch the lurgy. I'm going with the lurgy theory.
3. Being slow. Do not be slow. Or, if you absolutely have to be slow, be slow in the corner, where no one's gonna get caught up in it. I am a keen advocator of overtaking lanes for pedestrians and commuters. I think I might even get a badge promoting overtaking lanes.
4. Being a selfish little turd and pushing your way to the front of the queue when you got there last. I was here first. Go to the back of the line.
5. Insisting on cramming yourself onto an already-packed tube when another one is due in under a minute. I don't get it. You're only gonna have the doors slap you round the head when they close, anyway. Just wait another 60 seconds and get on the next one. And if one of the selfish little turds from Behaviour No. 4 pushes in front of you, tell them that Maaarfer said "Yo mama." That'll teach 'em.
6. Staring at me. There are a thousand-and-one other places to look at while on the train, for instance: the window, the floor, that woman's shoe, that man's crotch, the door, your own hand... Do not stare at me. Or my crotch, for that matter.
7. Being smelly. Summer's coming and you really should be having showers every morning by now, people. If it's a hot day and you anticipate being squashed underground with a lot of strangers, don't wear leather - wear Imperial Leather! (Cheesy. Sorry.) As well as advocating overtaking lanes for pedestrians and commuters, in my spare time I also advocate trains with built-in Febreze. If scientists can put us on the moon (apparently), I'm sure they can come up with some way of making nonflammable aerosole cans.
8. Reading from a Kindle. I don't know why Kindles irritate me so much, but they get on my last bloody nerve. People with Kindles are worse than the idiots who insist on playing around with their phone on the tube, irrelevant to the fact that you can't get a signal underground. (What are they doing? Playing Snakes?) Stop being such a flash bugger and go out and buy a book. Who the hell needs 3,500 books for one journey, anyway?
9. Being Mr Wobble. I met Mr Wobble on Monday. He decided that, rather than holding on to something, it would be a much better idea to stand slap-bang-centre in the middle of the train and do a crossword puzzle. I think he fell over about a hundred times (I lost count), but still he seemed adamant that the completion of his puzzle was more important than not falling on his face. Or stepping on my feet.
10. Stepping on my feet. DO NOT STEP ON MY FEET. THESE ARE NEW SHOES. I ONLY BOUGHT THEM LAST WEEK AND ALREADY THEY HAVE A MILLION FOOTPRINTS ON THEM. Fecking eejits.
If you have any further queries, please do not hesitate to contact me in the comments section below. Or, indeed, you may address these issues with me on my travels to and from work tomorrow. That is if you can find me behind the seven-foot giant with bad personal hygiene.
Kind regards,
Maaarfer
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