I feel I now have enough experience, as a district line commuter for approximately one-hour of my daily existence, to finally write this blog highlighting the type and level of twats you encounter on the tube. This is based of real-life experience and complaints from friends. I give you this list ranging from irritating twat, ignorant prick all the way up to monumental cunt.
Let’s ease ourselves in with the tube surfer – Have you been on a tube before love? I know you have because your Oyster card is looking a little worn. So, you should be aware that when you get on the tube, once those doors are shut the carriage will inevitably move. So please tell me this, why are you still gazing into your phone before allowing your body to go stumbling back into me, stamping on my foot in the process, and producing noises of shock such as a dramatic ‘woahwoahwoah’? You miss, are a twat!
Amping it up slightly is the bothersome elbowers – You walk onto the carriage and huzzah, what triumph, a seat is available. You settle down and then… oh… what the… hey… *nudge* *nudge* *nudge* ….for fucks sake… *nudge*. Now, I’m pretty British when it comes to these things, so I’m not going to say anything, I’m going to allow you to continuously nudge me whilst you search for a hair bobble at the bottom of your bag, read your newspaper or apply your make-up. But, please know that you’ve ruined my day and expect some serious tutting and sighing – You bellend.
The district line is wonderful for probably one thing and that’s phone and 3G signal, however with this joy comes the despair at having to allow my ear drums to be subjected to to other people’s phone calls, especially ones to their significant others. What’s worse is hearing some moron baby-talk his missus whilst on a crowded tube. Have you no pride, where is your shame, why is his girlfriend allowing this performance of wetness to continue? These people make me want to vom, I don’t care that he physically cannot wait to ‘get homey-wome to tickle his princess fluff fluffs and give her a kissy-wiss and tell her that he thinks she is the pwettiest pink snuggle bunny in all of the landy wand.’ Have a word with yourself mate, straighten up and stop being such a dick.
Now, this is the type of cunt, I cannot even fathom to deal with. A special breed of pole leaner that needs to be extinct. I’ll tell you a story that happened to me recently on the usually pleasant metropolitan line. It was rush hour, so quite packed and the only pole available was being occupied by a man who was full-on leaning on it, i mean wedged between his arse cheeks type of leaning. So, as not to be a tube surfer I place my hand near the top, where I could feel his neck heat on the back on my hand (vom, but I don’t want to be a cunt) so, I endured. Then in an act of ungodly cuntish behaviour, the already-taking-the-piss guy leans his head back on the pole, thus touching my hand with his neck sweat scraping my fingers with his wirery hair. I obviously recoil and say ‘eugh’ expecting some kind of social etiquette of a ‘sorry’ from this man, but no. He looked at me, then placed his head back on the pole and smirked. I was fuming, internally obviously, did a few animated hand-wipes on my jacket so that he was aware of how much he disgusts me, then he got off. You sir, are a monumental cunt.