Wednesday, March 20, 2002

"You want to know why I hate you/ Well I'll try and explain..."

Stuff you do that you don't have to do and which makes life just that little bit more unpleasant than it needs to be: part of an ongoing series where I elucidate just why I really, really, don't like you and why much of my waking life is spent in seething resentment of the waste of valuable resources which is YOU.

Chapter One: On the Underground.

Sitting down in front of the ticket barriers to rummage in your bag for your ticket. Yeah, that's right, you've lost your damn ticket so the rest of the world can grind to a halt for all you care.

Walking very slowly down the stairs because you've got your arms round each other, thus getting in my way so that I miss the last train before the signals at Arnos Grove go on the fritz again, thus making me wait 20 minutes for the next one, thus making me late for class.

Shoving past people who are trying to get off the train as you try to get on. A two-for-one slice of rudeness and terminal stupidity.

Walking backwards in front of your mate so you can keep talking to hir whilst waving your arms oblivious to the fact that you're in a crowded tunnel full of people who would dearly love to get out of your way but can't because the only clear space happens to be in the path of an oncoming train.

Assuming that your journey is more important than my journey purely because you're wearing a suit and I'm not.

Frottage. (Mark you, I get less of this than I used to. Must be the collar with 4" nails for spikes.)

Ignoring the two grown men who are harrassing that fourteen-year-old girl. So what if there's a whole carriage full of you and only two of them? So what if she's weeping and begging them to leave her alone? So what if all it takes to make them back off is for all 5'6" of me to give them a hard stare? You don't need this, right? If she wasn't wearing that school uniform they'd probably have ignored her, right? Look at her, snivelling away, making the atrophied remains of your conscience prickle uncomfortably. Hell, you're the victim here! Yeah! She deserves everything she gets, making you feel vaguely aware of the way that London is slowly sapping your humanity, leaving you a craven, loveless husk of a creature who won't lift a finger to help a distressed kid even when you've got 30-1 odds on your side. And after you've had a long day at work, too.

God, I hate you all.

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