SAT ON A F**KING BIN
THAT FLAKY BASTARD.
INTRODUCTION
Some commutes are mild annoyances, some are character building, and then there are the ones that feel like the universe has decided to run a social experiment on you personally. This is one of those mornings, a saga of bins, buses, Brian, and the eternal battle against people who treat public transport like their own private obstacle course.
I would rather sit literally anywhere than on a bin, a bench, a kerb, the floor of a train, a sheet of tin, all better options. Yet there I was, perched on a bin like some kind of commuting raccoon philosopher, wondering what life choices had led me here. I had committed no sin worthy of bin sitting, but fate clearly disagreed.
THE COMMUTE FROM HELL
This story starts like every other one: I woke up. Shocking, I know. I thought I would be proactive and get the early train, not because I hate myself, not because sleep is a myth, and not because I needed to. I just thought, why not? Monday mornings are never good anyway. If you were born on a Monday, unlucky. There has never been a good Monday. There have been Happy Mondays, but that does not help.
I made it down the road and, surprisingly, was not sweating. I am not unfit; I just love pushing myself for no reason. I swooshed into the station feeling weirdly optimistic. Maybe this day was on the mend. No spring in my step, but I could have managed a hop.
I ran down the ramp, looked around, no train. No fucking train.
I was not late. I was on time. The train simply did not exist. Cancellations all along the line to London Bridge.
FUCKKKK, I screamed internally. Maybe externally. Hard to tell these days. I have started recording myself on commutes, and it turns out I talk a lot. I might start posting it. I insult people without realising because I have got music in and think I am whispering when I am actually shouting. You, flaky bastard is my current favourite. Sometimes it is just a loud cough. Same energy.
I got on the replacement bus, thinking I could still make it in on time. Wrong. Everyone on the bus had the same dead-eyed determination. The driver, however, did not. His motto was clear: time should not be wasted, but enjoyed. He took a fifteen-minute journey and stretched it into forty. He admired every stop like it was a UNESCO heritage site. I was fuming.
I finally got off the bus and sprinted to the next station, a completely wasted effort, because I ended up on the exact train I had been trying to beat. But the real problem was not the delay. It was the sheer number of people who had collectively decided, fuck working from home, I am going in today.
The train was cataclysmically full. People everywhere. There was even a huddle in the toilet, one of the modern ones, so it was not as grim as it sounds. Honestly, the toilet was probably the cleanest part of the train.
Enter Brian
He boarded a few stops after me. He spotted some imaginary space and went for it. There was no room, but that did not stop him. He stood directly in front of me, holding onto nothing, trusting the crowd to keep him upright. Then he started leaning on me. Full weight. I was sitting on the bin, and he basically turned me into Santa at a shopping centre. He was practically on my knee.
A loud cough would not cut it. So I waited. Waited until he took off his headphones, and whispered in his ear. Just out, weird the bastard. He shot up when we pulled into London Bridge and tutted at me like I was the problem.
I did not realise until I stood up that I had natural yoghurt smeared across the back of my jeans from the bin. Perfect.
I sprinted down to the tube and met the next character.
Enter Sandra
Describing her politely would be impossible. Anyone who rides the tube should have to pass a basic competency test. My reasoning is simple, If a door is closed, you cannot walk through it. If a jar is closed, you cannot get to the honey. So why, WHY, did she stand directly in the doorway, blocking everyone from getting off?
Time was being wasted. People were sighing. Then a legend behind her finally shoved her smug face out of the way. This allowed people off and allowed me to get on just before the doors shut in her face.