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Death Tube
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the lady with two big bags at Euston Station
Having scrambled aboard the train with her cumbersome luggage, she expressed suprise and irritation when the girl she'd trapped inside the carriage had to push past her to get off the train. Lady with two big bags at Euston Station, I choose you.
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The man sitting next to me reading the Times
Reason: As I was riding the tube into work this morning I suddenly heard a strange buzzing sound coming from my left. I snuck a discrete glance in that direction and saw that the man sitting next to me was cooling his face with a little hand held fan. Just why this made me immediately mark him for an excrutiating death I can't exactly say (death tube is a fickle mistress who can strike without the least of warnings), but I'd certainly like to blame him and his diminutive fan for me forgetting to change at kennington. Yes it's clearly all his fault for making me concentrate so hard on his untimely demise that I missed my stop. He deserves everything he gets.
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straight up here?
We've had death tube and death bus, but how about death pedestrian? I choose the guy who asked me directions to the kings head pub (though he prounced it like it was all one word: 'kingzedpub').
This fine drinking establishment is just at the bottom of my road so I was happy to lead him right to it. Well, I was happy at first. As we made our way down the highstreet I first began to grow concerned when he insisted on walking literally right next to me, so close that our arms and legs banged together as we walked. I know some people have different interpretations of personal space, but this was just plain impractical.
It was pretty awkward walking down the road with this total stranger pushed up against me so I tried to make a little conversation.
Me: It's a very good pub. The best in Tooting.
Him: do girls dance there?
Me: uh ... well, um, I've never actually seen girls dance there... umm, but maybe they do sometimes? Perhaps?
I tried to picture girls dancing amongst the rather aged furniture of the Kings Head. I think he was going to be disappointed.
As we walked further he seemed to be growing increasingly agitated, so in order to calm him down I tried to point out that we could see the pub from where they were, but he just looked blankly up the road.
Me: there it is look - it's that big building just ahead.
Him: It's straight up here?
Me: Yes, I'm pointing at the sign right now. There, the big sign that says 'the King's Head'. There.
Him: straight up?
Me: *sigh* yes, straight up.
We eventually came to the top of my road which is almost directly opposite the King's Head.
Me: Right, I have to go down here now. There's the pub. Just cross over the crossing here and your done.
Him: straight up?
Me: yes, it's just over there, see?
Him: straight up here?
Me: ok, I'm going now. Good luck.
I looked over my shoulder as I walked off. He was just standing there on the corner. Looking confused and a little forlorn. So close to his goal, and yet at the same time so utterly oblivious to it. Now I feel bad. I won't choose him. I hope he found his dancing girls.
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The blonde man standing by the doors (and the girl with a large case)
1) got on the train at leicester square and leant against the glass partition to read my book (Sputnik Sweetheart by Haruki Murakami)
2) the man standing by the doors was leaning on his arms, so when he had to cough, rather than covering his mouth with his hands, he turned his face towards the corner of the carriange. While this did serve to protect most of the passengers, the ensuing 'cone of pestilence' was of a wide enough angle to encompass me, and I recieved a face full of his diseased breath.
3) I didn't react at first, but the third time he did it I felt it: a single cold drop, right on my forehead. Maybe this was karma for previous events, but I wasn't just going to stand there and take it - I had to act. He'd rue the day he coughed on this baboon.
4) Yes - I took strong action indeed: I wiped my forehead without attempting to hide it and made a repulsed/incredulous face. Take that! Unfortunately I don't think he was looking: he coughed on me again, so I gave up and just sidled further away from him.
5) I was looking away when the next cough hit, but I felt it as it ruffled my hair like a playful spring breeze. Surely I was out of the area he was coughing into now? I started to get paranoid. Could it be that, angered by the fact that I (most unreasonably) didn't like being coughed on, he had now started to cough on me deliberately? Was I standing next to some sort of phlegmatic sociopath?
6) I didn't get the chance to find out if he would try to cough on me again, as a woman moved into the space between us. He didn't cough on her though. And she sat down on her case, taking up three times the space of anyone else in the crowded carriage. Bitch.
I choose them both.
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The woman who ran for the closing doors at Waterloo
Reason: she ran to catch the train as the doors were beeping (already a
step in the right direction for the death tube treatment), but rather
than thrusting an arm or a bag through the door like so many other
hapless travellers before her, she decided to push her child through
the door which then unsuprisingly closed on her arm. Fortunately the
driver opened the door so she could get on, but her callous disregard
for the safety of her child had already marked her for death.
The one thing that really stuck in my mind about the whole incident was
the heart-breaking gasp of horror and despair that the poor child
emitted as the doors closed - it really jarred me to the core. And I
knew I'd heard that sound somewhere before, a sound that a human being
can only make when seperated from something which it loves so dearly. It was the exact same sound that I made
when I lost my meatball.
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The woman wearing sandals sitting on my left
Reason: She had an unfeasably long second toe.
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The young man sitting next to me drinking a 'yop'
Reason: In a display of
unbridled masculinity he slouched forward and positioned his legs at a
highly obtuse angle, clearly impinging my leg space. I think he must
have had a massive cock.
Not to be cowed by this performance, I tried a little experiment: I
made sure to keep my leg pressed against his, and as the journey went
on I gradually forced his leg back - every inch he yielded I pushed
forward into. It was like a secret battle right there in the tube
carriage - ooh the adrenaline rush!
By the time he got off I'd almost forced him to have his leg in a
normal position. If he'd stayed on the train a couple more stops I'd
have forced him back into his own territory and put him on the
defensive, eventually securing my victory by sitting on his lap. I
think he got off before his stop because he could see this was coming.
Score one for the baboon!
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