The Late Train

Hate them all you will - and we will - but you've got to give it to London Underground; commuters of the grey cloud city have been handed a mother of a 'late pass'. We freely tap our snooze buttons; take time to prepare our cups of tea; indulge in generous helpings of BBC Breakfast; wait for trains less congested to arrive, and even stop by stores en route for doughnuts and coffee, knowing fully well that if we are late to the office, no real explanation is required.

'Sorry I'm late boss, the trains were a nightmare.'

And they probably were, at some probable time, on one of the probable lines you probably should have been on a lot earlier.

What's so sweet about this setup is that everyone from the new recruit to the office veteran has been screwed-a-plenty by our nation's national treasure of a public transport service – God bless our Queen. The phrase, 'Sorry I'm late boss, the trains were a nightmare.' does not raise alarms of deceit, but instead rings with familiarity.

Pick a card, any card; someone was taken ill on a train, someone was found under a train, or someone has pulled a passenger alarm on a train. You mavericks of unrelenting disturbance, I say thank you on behalf of London City. For on our mornings of gross lethargy and disregard for time, your past endeavours can be recalled promptly to generate an often fabricated nightmare of a journey.

Without taking the gloss off of our heroes in blue, there are two additional saving graces for any late employee:

Firstly, it doesn’t matter how late you arrive at work, as long as a departmental colleague arrives later. If you do happen notice a few absent colleagues, don’t be too hasty to pull your ‘Train Card’ (these lose value with excessive use). Instead, take your seat as if you’re 10 minutes early. You might as well be. The only person who’s actually late is the last to arrive in the office. In fact, even if you arrive 5 minutes early you’re still late if you’re the last to arrive. It’s office law.

The second is more of a desperate manoeuvre than a grace. You’re late, and you know it, but it’s Thursday and you’ve already used two ‘Train Cards’ this week. Unless your travel route makes the news – you’re now desperately praying for a crash or power outage – you’re screwed, and all recent displays of tardiness will be brought to the table. There’s only one thing for it, Krispy Kremes . . . for everyone!

More often than not this could all be avoided by resisting the urge to hit that all too easy snooze button. That snooze button which only serves the purpose of multiplying the number of times you’re angrily woken up in the morning.

But in reality, who really wants to be early for work anyway? The cleaning lady and the milkman, that’s who.

A to the . . .

Get Me Off Of This Train

Preferably before I SCREAM!!!

I just generally don’t like other people, especially when I’m tired or hungry. If I’m both then you may see a tear swelling in my eye if you look close enough. This shouldn’t be hard to see considering how closely we’re crammed into this train carriage.

What happened to personal space?

Rush hour is only tolerable when you have a seat; life looks better from that angle. It’s easier to read a book, a newspaper or whatever. You can relax you legs and crank up the volume on you mp3 player. You can wrestle for the armrests. If you’re extremely tired you can use the adjacent strangers shoulder as a pillow; you might get a troubled look but you’ll be sleeping so who cares? It’s a free world after all.

I grabbed a copy of the Metro this morning while I sleepwalked my way to work, and noticed an interesting little piece about the stress of commuting and how we deal with it. A few interesting points were made.

One . . .

Singing, humming or talking to ourselves

Huh?
I don’t know how this helps people deal with stress. At best people will discretely veer away from you, providing you with more of that precious personal space. You might even be lucky enough to score a seat . . . falsetto.

Two . . .

Planning for the day ahead or after-work activities

It’s just way too early for this . . . and if I’m on my way home, then it’s way too late also. Unless it’s a Friday and this that case I’m probably banging out text messages.

“R U Cumin 2nite?”

Three . . .

Working on a laptop, writing or reading and always make the effort to travel outside of rush-hour

Is travelling outside of rush-hour even an option for most people? I’ll drop this issue right here, but only because the Metro is a free newspaper. You won’t see this kind of crazy talk in The Guardian. Yes, everyone, stay at work till seven and then . . . oh, that’s the original problem, we’re all leaving at the same time.
OK, I really will stop now.

Four . . .

Getting angry with other commuters or admiring attractive people

I don’t know who writ this, or if their job is even secure. OK, yes it was in bullet points but I just don’t understand whether or not they are giving me permission to ‘wild out’ on public transport. I try to keep my cool when people annoy me on the train, but I might just have to reconsider if it will help me to ‘de-stress’.

I like how they have fused anger and lust together so casually. The two emotions that can fast-track your applications to jail and Hell.

Five . . .

Listening to music or audio books

Yes I must listen to my music this loud so stop looking at me like that before I exercise point four!

Six . . .

Oral gratification – from chewing gum, talking on a mobile, chatting with other commuters or eating

Yeah, I was disappointed too, thought they were going to take this in another direction.

Seven . . .

Abusing substances such as tobacco and alcohol

I was waiting for a train last week and was offered a beer (Stella Artois). I’m usually up for freebies but politely declined the generous offer; this didn’t stop him from taking to me though. I felt sorry for the guy; his wife won’t let me bring alcohol home . . . I guess she is cool with him coming home drunk though.

Eight . . .

Meditation or prayer

This requires a focused mind, especially with ladies breasts pressed against you and sweaty men’s armpits in your grill (how’s that for ambiguity?). I’m 6’2” though so it’s not an issue for me (the armpits, I’m still a man).

Nine . . .

Seeking counselling or medication to cope with stress

I’m guessing that they don’t expect you to do this during rush hour. Wouldn’t it be cool to unload your problems to someone while you travelled home though?
“Ak, this is just between you, me and all the people in this carriage”

Please . . . just get me off of this train.

A to the . . .

Good Morning Glory . . . FIGHT!

Morning, the unpleasant time of the day that involves waking up isn’t always so unpleasant. Some mornings you wake up and feel on top, you feel good, alive and ready for combat.

I don’t think my Pops saw it coming this morning, but before he left for work I managed to ‘son’ him twice. I don’t think he was looking for beef, but that’s usually the case when you find it.

Round 1 . . . ‘ding ding’
My parents’ room has a built in toilet and shower (en suite), my Pops has appointed himself gatekeeper. I ignored the gatekeeper this morning and strolled into his room to get some bog roll. There wasn’t any left around the house so my parents’ room was the last resort. Surely enough there was one chunky roll of toilet paper on the holder. I took it off and was heading out of the room.

“Where are you going with that?” he snapped.

He was ready to go into a rant when I told him that I bought it (which i did) and there is none left in the house. His brain started thinking of a counter attack as my mum watched to see who was going to come out tops in the stand off.

He couldn’t say a thing.

I wouldn’t usually class this as 1-0 but I was in a good mood this morning and started dancing in his face with the toilet roll in my hand. My mum was laughing hysterically and he couldn’t say a word. Just as he was about to say something I turned around and walked out of the room . . . toilet roll in hand. 1-0 to Ak-Man.

Round 2 . . . ‘ding ding’
My Pops must have been looking for the equaliser; we had another showdown about 15mins later. Not enough resting time if you ask me.
As I finish brushing my teeth I was ready to get a shower. I left the bathroom my pops bursts out of his bedroom holding a blue shirt.

“Iron this” he commands gleefully.

I started whining like a twelve year old and to make matter worse my younger bro is watching . . . not gangsta! I’m trying to explain to him that I have to get ready for work; he just tells me that I have to do it. Ugh, he’s making me feel like a house servant! This isn’t cool at all. Then to seal his equaliser he imitates the dance I did in his room and my bro starts laughing at me. It’s levelled up at one a piece now, but it cant end like this.

Round 3 . . . ‘ding ding’
His shirt is ironed but he has another problem.
As it turns out, I was the only person in the house who had any shower gel this morning. I waited patiently for a few minutes . . . he then came out of his room and nonchalantly strolled across into the main bathroom. I knew what he was looking for and I let him take it . . . just so I can take it back.

“I’ll be having that” I told him.

He looked at the shower gel and then at me. I had a grin on my face and was ready to take him out of the game.

“I know you’ve got more” was this his attempt and salvaging his pride?

I took the shower gel out of his hand and told him that it was my last one (which it was) and I was ready to jump in the shower. Fortunately my brother was watching the duel, and nothing makes you rub it in harder than having an audience present. I waited for myself and my Pops to be in good view of my brother and then did a little jig which cracked up my brother and we both laughed at my Pops. Not too hard though, never too old for an ass whooping. 2-1 to Ak-Man!

A to the . . .

Good Morning Glory

I’ve got money to make, so I have to get from my bed to my desk before 11am. Yeah I know, I’m lucky too start at 11am but I still find time to sleep whilst at work. Here is how it goes down.

07:30

My alarm goes off (or does it go on?) . . . Anyway, it’s just a teaser to help me slowly wake up. I lean over to my desk and reset my alarm for 08:00 and go back to sleep.

08:00

Half an hour flew by and my alarm is making noise again, I lean over and press snooze . . . back to sleep again.

08:10

. . . Snooze

08:20

OK, I really have to get up now; I’m 20 minutes behind

schedule. I drift off into a tiny snooze, shake it off and roll out of bed. I get off the floor and put on my ‘house clothes’ (AKA old clothes), switch on the hot water and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

Brushing my teeth takes between 10 and 20 minutes (seriously). This is for two reasons: 1) I do everything extremely slowly in the morning until I get out of the shower and 2) I think I have a psychological problem . . . it’s like my teeth are never clean enough (obsessive compulsive?)

08:40

While I wait for the water to heat up a little bit more I do 120 press-ups. These are done in reps, four sets of 30. They also help me to wake up and keep me busy if the bathroom is occupied. After each set of 30 press-ups I pose in my mirror ‘looking good’. I used to do 8 minute abs in the morning but I put it on hold to tone up my upper body (arms and chest).

08:55

Shower time! I get clean . . . what more can I say? I don’t sing and I don’t play with a rubber duck.

09:25

I get out of the bath and attach my iPod to my speaker system. I choose some music that matches my mood and get dressed while rapping or singing along. This process involves more mirror posing, but I’m awake now so it’s serious posing, get ready for another day posing, ‘you’re the man’ posing, ya dig?

09:50

I should be leaving the house now but I must grab a few things before I go. I fill up two bottles with tap water and make two slices of toast. I’m good to go.

09:55

Bopping to the train station listening to music . . . good times.

10:10

I get to the station and see a big queue of people waiting to get their travel tickets or top up their Oyster Cards. I laugh to myself ‘Ha ha ha, imprudent fools’. I walk past them extra happy and ‘tap in’.

There are a few things I REALLY hate about Dagenham East train station. Firstly, no one ‘works’ there so everyone has to wait to use the only ticket machine there, or just walk through the gates and pay (at least £4) at their destination. Secondly, it’s on the District Line. The only lines I know that run less frequently are the East London Line (which should be called the South London line) and the Silver Link line. This means that getting to the station early doesn’t mean you will get to work early . . . or even on time for that matter! Apologising to your boss is not gangsta.

10:15

I’m (hopefully) on the train now and heading towards Barkin station where I will catch the 10:28 C2C train to Fenchurch St. I’m usually reading a book, listening to music or reading The Metro (my favourite newspaper) if I’m lucky enough to get a copy.

10:45

I get of at Fenchurch St. and head over to Pret to get some grub for my shift. Two slices of toast is just not enough for a growing lad so I buy over priced food to satisfy my gut.

Even when I’m late I stop to buy food, I rarely leave the building at work so it’s now or never! I used to splurge at Benjy’s but it seems they have closed down. This troubles my soul; Benjy’s was the house of bargains! I used to get ham and tomato rolls for 25p each! I shed a tear in loving memory; plus the girls that worked there we’re better looking than the Pret girls who all look they used to work on a farm.

10:55

I’m in on time, look around to see what’s been left for me (paper work), and sign on to MSN Messenger . . . ‘Morning Rainbow Drop’ . . . ‘What’s up Razor’ . . . ‘What’s Poppin Boiji?’ . . . ‘Aye Aye Nigga’.

This is my typical weekday morning.

A to the . . .