I’ve been on a train for all of five minutes and I’ve already been glared at, almost sneezed on, and ‘accidentally’ kicked by the bitch opposite – who didn’t even apologise.
But, before I start sounding all high and mighty about being the chirpiest commuter around, I must admit that I’m no better than the idiots in this train carriage.
My daily commute from Brixton to Farringdon brings with it worrying high levels of stress, coupled with anger and hatred for everyone around me (especially tourists and young children – I personally think they should be banned from rush hour).
If someone cuts me up, I’ll spend the next two minutes in complete and utter rage, incessantly rambling about the cheek of this stupid person who clearly thinks the world revolves around them and their suitcase.
The worst is when someone tries to cut in front of me while I’m trying to get through the ticket gates. This is when my ramblings become a lot more vocal and completely out of my control.
A few weeks back a woman did exactly this and so, as usual, I tutted and muttered “silly cow” under my breath.
I was completely taken aback when she tutted and muttered something under her breath in response. This had never happened before and, to be honest, I felt a bit scared.
I had two choices: call her a bitch for cutting me up and suffer the consequences, or act as if nothing had happened.
Well, I wimped out and let the Aussie win.
Anyway, all of this got me thinking about why us London commuters are so damn unfriendly.
There’s nothing nicer than sharing an innocent smile with your fellow commuter on the way to work. Or letting that other person take the spare seat just because.
In Brixton the other morning a woman was helping a blind man get on the escalator with his guide dog. I thought to myself, “how sweet.”
The next minute I heard the woman start shouting “oh no!” The man lost his footing and ended up falling over at the top of the escalator.
But people just kept on walking. And, again, I’m no fine one to talk because I was one of them.
My entire journey to work I was fraught with worry. Perhaps if I’d have lent a hand the blind man would have been alright.
But these things happen, I suppose, and if anything I feel that I’ve learnt a lesson.
My Dad once quoted the Beatles lyric ‘the love you make is equal to the love you take’, and I think a lot can be said for it.
So next time we’re rushing around, stressing about all the things there is to do, let’s spare a thought for one another. One smile is all it takes.
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