Oh my god, I hate commuting. I got away with it for so long, living and working in Kingston-upon-Thames for nearly four years. How I’d relish the secret thrill of thinking ‘haaaaaasucka’, when my poor colleagues got stuck waiting for delayed trains or told me their wake-up times, like 6am what even is that bro.
Alas, it could not continue. I knew that eventually I’d have to get a grip and get out of my Surrey bubble. I mean, I wouldn’t actually move out of Surrey for god’s sake, who do you think I am – but the time had come to stop pissing about and join the masses.
When I joined my new agency, based in Euston, I got to Twickers station bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, no big deal right? Oh nah. I felt like the whole of bloody Twickenham wanted to get on that train and I ended up under a man’s armpit and up against a lady’s derriere – it was verging on perverted (I could feel the cheeks).
Over the next few weeks I nearly fainted twice, dropped a bunch of stuff like hair clips, pens and other things never to be retrieved, cursed and tutted my friggin’ brain out and arrived at the office looking less slick than I wanted.
It’s alright, it’s not forever – ONLY 40 YEARS TO GO. No but seriously, people do this every day for years – I don’t even have it that bad. I come in twice or three times a week max and work from home the rest of the time (nothing like slamming a journalist with a hard-hitting pitch when you’re sat in your PJs eating Rich Tea biscuits for breakfast – I mean WHAT, who’d even do that?)
I thought I’d put together a few tips of how I make it through the ghastly London rat-race of a morning.
It’s really hot, don’t even bother wearing a coat ever
Unless you want the disgusting feeling of a trickle of sweat running gently down your back, lay off the layers. Take one with you if you must. Winter, if anything, is worse. I remember one disgusting journey when a guy was sweating so badly inside his full suit and puffa jacket that sweat was dripping of his head in a stream, onto his phone, into his coffee, on the floor, almost on to us. Embarrassing mate, can you not.
Don’t you DARE bring a massive backpack
Don’t be bloody selfish to the handbag/briefcase people getting peak trains to get into the office between 8-9. I mean, how very dare. Take your ridiculously over-sized luggage and get an off-peak train when we’re all ensconced in our offices, having not been assaulted by your life in a bag. Or walk. You’re CLEARLY going on a hike, Bag-Man.
Literally no one wants to hear your phone conversation
Nothing worse than hearing half a conversation, especially as I am so nosy. Everyone’s listening, don’t be so narcissistic.
Prepare to be judo-flipped, pole hogger
You know who you are. Leaning nonchalantly against the middle pole like it ain’t no thing, when we’re all flying across the carriage because we’d rather do that than either ask you to move or actually *shudder* touch you. It’s a British thing.
Reading material = god send
All the better to ignore you with, my dear.
Club together, tut as a mass
Might be mob mentality, but once commuters have something to be pissed off about, we get pissed off TOGETHER. AS A UNIT. Muted ‘for Christ’s sakes’, shared shakes of heads, tapping feet and fingers, unite.
If you even think about standing on the left side of the escalator, I swear to GOD
Just be fucking sensible alright?
Good luck, fellow commuters. I’m sure we’ll all be ignoring each other together shortly.