Full Fry Up

Another day, another glorious ride on London Midland rail. Oh the joys and blessings bestowed upon me.

I had every intention of going to work early but I was just too tired to make the 0646 so here I am, yet again waiting on the 0824. I've been lucky enough to get a lift to the station this morning so I'm over the moon that I've managed to avoid hippy mums, screaming brats, fag smoke trailers and general idiots.

I've arrived and my train isn't for 15 minutes and I need to renew my season ticket. There's only 2 people in the queue at the booth so I dutifully stand in line and wait patiently. I keep waiting, and waiting.. Seriously? There is one booth open and I see the woman behind fumbling with her sausage fingers typing in station codes and sipping a massive cup of coffee. Maybe put a few more shots of espresso in there love, I've got a train to catch.

I'm still standing in line and now I'm getting really pissed off. The massive station clock overhead flips over the minutes and I'm increasingly anxious. I make all the right noises for an impatient "far too important to stand in line" commuter. I tap my foot, roll my eyes and tut loudly as if somehow it will make the line go quicker, it doesn't.

The guy waiting patiently on his ticket realises that he actually has to pay for the benefit of this magical train journey. Fumbling around in his RAF rucksack he manages to produce a wallet, hurrah! Fucking hell people, why is it a revelation to you all that when you ask for a service, you have to pay? This annoys me across all walks of life and not just station life! Yummy mummies in Waitrose, "Oh hang on yah, what I have to paaaay for these olives and foccacia yah? Rupert, hand mummy the diamond Amex please, tut". Anyway, how fucking expensive is Waitrose? I blew my weekly shopping budget on chocolate chip shortbread, crisps and orange juice.

Anyway, I digress once again. I'm still waiting in line for sausage fingers to produce a valid ticket for travel and for rucksack guy to produce valid sterling for said goods. I don't think he's actually in the RAF, otherwise I'm sure I'd show a bit more patience. I bet he bought the rucksack of eBay. My tuts get louder and my foot tapping becomes more frantic which isn't good for my healing ankle. Oh fucking great, its a debit card payment. In the card reader, that's it, clever boy. Lest we forget our pin number! At last, Rucksack is done and ready for travel. I shuffle down the queue very aware that I only have a few minutes til my train. I stare at sausage fingers willing her to look up at me. She does. I bore my eyes right into her and they say "will you hurry the fuck up". It seems to work as magically one of the blinds on the other booth rolls up and a small ancient member of staff sheepishly pokes her head out and beckons me forward. I huffily stomp forward and grunt that my ticket needs renewed and before she's even typed it in I've thrust the money through the slot smugly as if to say "yeah, I've been here before. I know how this shit works, fucking ticket now. Please"

I spy at the corner of her mouth a blob of what I think is tomato ketchup. So whilst I've been tutting and eye-rolling in line, she's been stuffing her face on bacon or sausage rolls. I wonder what sausage fingers had or did she just lick her own fingers? Great, so I've got the full fucking fry up.  I'm not outwardly rude to staff members, I would never shout or abuse them. I just quietly seethe with rage and inwardly plot how I can seek revenge. Its just occurred to me that if anything ever happens to anyone mentioned on this blog, then I'm pretty much screwed.

Money and ticket exchanged, I storm towards the platform with about a minute to spare. I'm standing next to this woman, who I can only assume bathed in perfume and coconuts this morning. This is a SUPER day. Why douse yorself in SO much fragrance? My head begins to pound, I fucking hate strong smells. Again with the tutting and eye-rolling, but she moves away. Maybe I smell? Totally hating life today! Still could be worse. My friend is on a train somewhere in London cursing her own shitty day after spending 2 weeks on a beach in Spain. Sorry, I have no sympathy.

At fucking last, train is here. I wait patiently for the doors to open and I spot FPG! He actually eyeballs me! Now, this could be because I'm looking particularly fine this morning. Or, it could also be because he's spotted himself on my blog. Surely not, really? I mean I've been getting a lot of traffic. Could he know it was me? Is the fact that I'm frantically tapping on my Blackberry a giveaway sign?

I scurry onto the train and AVOID him like the plague, he's still looking at me! He knows! Well if he reads this blog then he definitely knows! Well mother fucker, serves you right for eating like you have something wrong with you.
Finally sitting down I sigh. Drama done. Now all I've got to do is contend with extremely loud Metro page turner. Perhaps you'd like me to stand next to you with a loudspeaker so the whole train can hear you?  Dick.

A. Passenger