lONDON bRIDGE
INTRODUCTION
I walk over London Bridge every day, so I’ve earned the right to complain. People have these deeply ingrained habits that irritate me beyond belief, and honestly, it’s time to burst the bubble.
For context, about 40,000 people walk over this bridge every single day. The bridge itself has been around for over 600 years, in one form or another. Yet somehow, our routines haven't evolved at all.
One bizarre habit stands out, if you're coming from London Bridge Station, everyone instinctively walks on the right-hand side. It's packed, chaotic, just a daily migration of a tragic battalion of impotent twats, arms pinned, gazes dead, surrendering to the slowness as if this is what death feels like. Picture eight people across, all moving at a limp-wristed crawl. Meanwhile, the left-hand side? Empty. Glorious. Free.
And every day you see it. You think about it.
But do you switch sides?
No fucking way.
We’re all too conditioned to break rank.
Logically, if a handful of people moved left, it would split the herd, making everyone's walk faster, less stressful, less like queuing for a diverted bus during rush hour. (That’s a weird comparison but stick with me, I’ll justify it another time.)
But the truth is, we don't change things that work well enough. That’s the dilemma. Why bother? Maybe this story will help illustrate why I both love and hate London Bridge in equal measure.
The Ticket Barrier of Doom
One morning, I was having a good commute. Feeling smug. Striding with purpose. Then my ticket failed.
Turns out, I’d washed it by mistake. I thought I’d checked my pockets, but apparently not well enough. Maybe the ticket needed a wash, think of the bacteria crawling all over those barriers. (Not sure how bacteria move, but I assume it's slimy on a molecular level.)
By the way, washing a ticket is almost as dumb as washing a packet of crisps. Both cause panic, first the pop, then the mush. Speaking of illogical cleaning habits, I also clean my dishwasher before it washes the dishes. Why? No clue. I thought it might make it extra hygienic. It doesn’t.
Anyway.
Awkward conversation with the barrier guard ensued. Me trying to explain why my soggy ticket was still valid. Mood: sunk.
The Crossing
But I knew salvation was ahead, The Bridge.
I left the station and, for reasons even I can't explain, chose the right-hand side. I wasn’t in a rush. I wanted the challenge.
Quick note on how I walk, I'm very specific. I like control. Overtaking people isn’t random, it’s tactical. Check your blind spots. Assess cadence. Predict gaps. Execute the perfect weave. Precision is everything.
Except today, my luck was off. The barrier mishap had set the tone.
I thought I’d found a clean path through the crowd. Reader, I had not.
Mid-weave, I took a wrong angle and absolutely bodied a businessman. Full collision. He was clearly in a rush, and somehow, we were moving the same way. I just didn’t see him.
It felt like one of those questions,
If you could have any superpower, what would it be?
Mine would probably be "believing I have a superpower when I absolutely don’t." That’s exactly what happened.
We both hit the ground, shielding ourselves from the stampede of indifferent Londoners. True to form, no one stopped. No one cared.
Why We Love the Chaos
Here’s the thing, we like the chaos.
We say we don’t. We pretend it annoys us.
But secretly, we love it.
Still, tomorrow I’ll take the right-hand side again. Obviously.