So, it's 4pm on a Friday. The last Friday of the month we call pizza friday in our workplace. This is where my employer decides that its okay for us to have a social life, and that we are free to leave the office a whole 2 hours earlier than usual. That's after they have stuffed us full of pizza. Basically hoardes of us make vows not to eat any of the said pizza for fear of our figures. But by the time the smell of 20 large pizzas wafts down from the 4th floor, promises are forgotten and mini skirts are a tad tighter that evening. And that's just the boys.
So anyway, its 4pm, I have managed to avoid the pizza. Purely because I've had nandos for lunch. I had a veggie burger but I stink of chicken. I have a feeling no, leg enhancing mini skirt could pull a bloke this evening. I've left the office and I'm desperate to get home. I haven't felt very well this weekend and have had 2 days out recovering. I dash to the train station. Its freezing cold, I mean Scotland cold. I can say that, I'm Scottish. The wind is bitter as hell and it feels like a thousand tiny knives slashing my face. My cheeks are stinging and no matter how fast I walk, the station doesn't seem to get any closer.
I'm laden with bags as I decided to clear out the wardobe I seem to have built up under my desk. 2 pairs of shoes, 2 dresses, 3 cardigans, a pair of tights, 2 cake boxes and 3 belts. I work in fashion apparently so I don't feel so bad. I eventually arrive at the station and I suddenly feel wary. There are too many people. Far too many people. What's going down? I look at the board and I cannot see my train anywhere. I see the London Midland trains in the opposite direction. But none my way. Eventually I spot it, but my stop seems to be missing from the calling points. Hmmm, strange. On every train in my direction, my station is missed out.
I look around the waiting area inside. Its warm, cosy, sheltered. But full of fucking idiots. Harry Potter fans with armfuls of souviner shop bags are everywhere. This is a peados paradise. I opt to wait outside favouring the bitter cold and numb face to a bunch of prepubescent children and grown men and women obsessed with Harry, Ron and Hermione. Guys, you do know Hermione is actually legal now, the fantasy is dead so give it up.
I've been waiting 40 minutes for an update. The platform announcer is getting on my TITS. He LOVES the sound of his own voice. I've heard him before, and remembered he loves to speak. The first time I heard him, it was funny. Now your just being a cock mate. My train is stuck at Euston. No real reason is given but the announcer. It's "just stuck" Oh well that's okay then, jesus I thought it would be something really vague like "held up". I'm becoming increasingly anxious. 4pm is long gone along with my hopes of being home warm and cosy in time for countdown. The platform is starting to fill over with idiots and I feel unclean. There is a boy sitting next to me, sniffing. Constantly. Now I have been unwell for a few days, I have a runny nose, but have the good sense and manners to carry a tissue in my pocket to stop such leakages.
I feel like slapping him. I'm just about to reach breaking point when another sniffer sits down on the other side of me. I say sniffer, more grunter. Every few seconds a deep sniff that evolves into a grunt that comes from the back of his nose. I'm worried he may inhale his own face. I check his hindquarters for evidence of a curly tail. There is none. I'm incredulous that people are oblivious to those around them. I tut loudly, that ought to do it. SNIFF! Nope, its not working. I sigh loudly and say, "fuck sake" perhaps a little too loudly and the grunter snaps his neck up and stares at me. I stare straight back. He holds my glare, neither of us giving up. I can do this all night piggy, I've got no market to get to. Now fuck off wee wee wee all the way home.
After what seems like an eternity, a train pulls into the platform. It misses my stop out completley, but I am not waiting around this farmyard. I hop on it and tell myself I'll get home somehow, someone will collect me and deliver me to my house.
The train is packed. I see no where to sit, there's barely enough room to stand. I spot a small space near the door, I squeeze myself in. There would be a whole lot more space if the selfish bitch next to me hadn't decided to sit on the floor with her legs out next to her massive bag. My feet can't move and I'm stuck. I feel like a weeble. My feet are so tightly pressed together I'm liable to tipping at any point. I glare at her spread out like she's on a fucking sunlounger. Its the London Midland love, not the Orient Express!
I hear the automated voice announce a familiar stop, it's near mine. I'll get off here. Thank god, what a relief. A lady that's been fighting for balance next to me, leans over and says, "you get off at my stop usually don't you, can my husband drop you off at home?". How incredibly sweet. My faith in humans is restored. I thank her profusely but, It's fine, I've summoned my driver. I'm genuinely touched. Then I start to wonder if perhaps she's spotted me and engineered this situation to entice me back with her husband to partake in some sordid friday night action. I regard her with a raised eyebrow. She definitely looks like the keys in the bowl type. I bet her husbands fit and wears a suit.
On second thoughts babe, I don't need that lift, I've managed to make my own way home. ;) Sordids Law right there.
A. Passenger
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