Recently I changed jobs and one of the adventures I encounter due to this is a daily commute on Londons fine transport system. I’ve changed over to a combination of Train + Tube to my destination. I’ve found that one thing London doesn’t seem to have is what you might call tube etiquette. Every morning we gather on the platforms and like a herd of cattle we prod and poke each other into the cattle trailer (more commonly referred to as a car or carriage). Every nook and cranny is filled to the extent that body odour becomes part of your daily commute. Out pop the papers, books, phones and pads; the reading commences. You slowly begin to tune out and the smell of wet wool, toothpaste breath and infrequent flatulence gets drowned out by our morning stories.
This seems to be the general etiquette, but sometimes there’s a break in the routine. Yesterday on my journey home I was joined in the cattle herd queue by a cheery dutch bloke. And hear this… he actually spoke to me! I thought to myself… the cheek of him! Well, not really, fortunately for him I am the kind of guy that likes to reciprocate any social interaction. His ice breaker was that we both somehow managed to find the only short queue. “Queue?” I hear you ask… yes, on the Jubilee line they actually form queues in front of the electronic doors, imagine that! “Indeed” I replied, as the doors closed for the second time against some blokes head who was refusing to accept that there was no more space in the cattle car. Third time lucky and he managed to squeeze in. For me it must have been one of those lucky mornings, because not only had I found someone to talk rubbish to, the next train down the track was fairly quiet so there was a lot less personal space invasion as per usual. We parted at Waterloo. I found out from him that he worked for a charity but was hoping to relocate to Canary Wharf. He found out from me that the jubilee line was usually a lot more packed than what he just witnessed.
Next morning, after an uneventful train journey to Waterloo, I was back in the cattle mart at the Jubilee line. As usual, I underestimated the perseverance of boarding passengers and thought it possible to actually hold a pole to keep myself stable. Cue Spanish lady and an attempt at sardine tin simulation. I move an inch and somehow she squeezes herself into the vacancy between me and said pole. Now, I didn’t really mind, but some other guy took liberty against this and got quite angry with her for taking his space. Have to say, the whole event somewhat amused me… because, eh, it was actually me who was originally standing there! I spent the next 10 minutes of the tube journey listening to these pair of muppets arguing about the space invasion that just occurred.
In fairness, that was a fairly mild incident compared to some things I have witnessed on public transport. I think the worst was the time I was in the quiet carriage on a train and a woman, with what I can only describe as having tree trunks for legs, boarded and proceeded to speak as loudly as possible on her mobile. Seems she hadn’t paid her rent and every excuse in the book was been made public in that carriage. After about 10 minutes the bloke she sat opposite had enough and, in so many words, told her to zip it. Ms Tree Trunk Legs wasn’t having any of this, and asked him who the f*** he thought he was, what effing business it was of his etc. They rowed about it for quite a while, her using vocal extremities to make her point, him using a more rational method. He eventually gave up and returned to his window staring. She continued. I was quite amused up until the point she decided to start insulting him, and out of nowhere she says: “You’re sick man, you probably is a pedophile, innit. Like dem priests innit”. So not only has she decided that he sexually abuses children, she has basically branded every priest in the world a child abuser too. I think it was at exactly that point that everyone else in the train decided enough is enough. Another guy managed to intervene first. She initially protested, stating she was in the right, until she suddenly realised she was 1 very alone woman, with large tree trunks for legs, in a carriage now full of pretty irate people. And she was the cause.
So if you ask me is there such thing as tube etiquette, my answer is yes. Don’t call a stranger a pedophile.
