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Close proximities of the creepiest kind
You had the longest day possible and you are thankful it’s Friday. You were on your feet for most of the day, and are looking forward to a hot shower, cozy PJs and a box of chocolates – the ones you got on Valentine’s day. For lunch, you had to make do with a cold Tesco sandwich and a new age drink that promised to revitalise your brain power – you are still waiting for that bust of energy. Just before you leave the office for home, you are called to an ‘emergency’ meeting that turns to be anything but a complete waste of your time. Eventually you manage to leave the office, and head down the street in a hurry. You’ve missed your usual train because of that stupid meeting, and you are hoping to catch the next one which is 10 minutes away. You walk fast because it’s super rush hour and everyone is clogging the platform. When you get there it’s like the extras from Ben Hur have gathered there, you can’t even see the forbidden yellow line and the further you are away from it, the more unlikely you’ll get on the train because people ‘just won’t move down the carriage’.Everyone is eager to get home just as you are. You crane your neck looking for a spot to move to and squeeze into the first train that pulls up. Then you hear the dreaded announcements: “The 5.45 south-eastern train to Dartford is cancelled, we apologise for the inconvenience caused.” “Fuck!” you curse under your breath just as a guy next to you curses out loud and threatens to decapitate rail workers – “It’s Friday for fuck’s sake! You think they’d give us a break given the week we’ve had!” A stout posh looking woman on the left is busy videoing the electronic board overhead as the announcement is writing itself across from left to right. You ask her why she’s doing that and she shouts back that they’d cancelled three trains in a row and she wants evidence, so she can get her money back. “Maybe you should get some of that action!” You think. It costs a kidney and a liver to buy a season ticket, so services should be on time every time and any delays should be compensated. You realise now that the emergency meeting saved you an hour of platform standing because even your usual train had been cancelled.After what felt like eternity, a train pulls up and you somehow find yourself inside the train. When the people on the platform clear a path ‘to let the customers out first’ the Kenyan in you seiz the opportunity and get on that path and the train faster than anyone could say… hey where are your queuing manners? Soon enough the train is full to capacity – sardines are packed better. Right next to you is a woman wearing what must be the world’s dirtiest weave. Your nose is nanometres from this monstrosity of a weave. The expression ‘seen better days’ would not apply to this weave because you are certain it has never seen better days – straight from the dumpsters of Kawangware market onto this woman’s head. The wearer had tied a miserable looking pony tail or rather something resembling a pony tail, the result – a mess of ugly locks matted together in clumps, and bits of fluffs all over her head. Now, never mind the clumps and the blanket bits, the smell is like the inside of a dead dog. Most likely and betting your last dollar, there is, for sure, a thriving eco-system probably on its tenth generation.You can’t believe how the week is ending after enduring a valentine’s day from hell – your worse half [formerly better half] – declared he would not be tyrannised by big brands by buying red roses instead he would rediscover his catholic faith by going to church for Ash Wednesday. You are not a church goer, so you have no idea what Ash Wednesday is – all he said was that it was a big deal – neither was he until he realised valentine’s day fell on Ash Wednesday and April fool’s day on Easter Sunday – he thinks there’s a message in there somewhere.After a few train stops, the weave bearer and whoever is thriving in it get off. You can finally breathe but the damage has been done and the sandwich you had for lunch is bubbling inside your stomach ready to erupt using the nearest exit. You don’t want to think about it because using a fast-moving train’s toilet is a like swimming upstream with crocodiles chasing you. You start mentally planning your evening to take your mind off your stomach, and as luck would have it, the carriage gets bigger and fresher as more people disembark than embark. And then like magic, a seat is vacated, and you dive for it head first (wow the Kenyan in you is alive and kicking today!), before that blonde lady eying it goes for it, but you are as quick as a cat and before she could adjust her handbag, you are sat and texting or pretending to.In no time you fall asleep and thankfully your tummy’s dragons have ceased grunting. Just as you are about enter the rabbit hole, a strange smell engulfs you. The smell is like a mixture of boiled weed and garlic, but the garlic scent is overwhelmingly nauseating. You wonder if you are already through the rabbit hole and unlike Alice who dreamt of painting white roses red, you are dreaming of smells. However, the stench is too much, and it wakes you. To your horror the stench is real, and the stinker is someone standing inches from you; his crotch is within touching distance from your forehead. “Pervert,” you think. You look up and the stinker is a builder type heavy set man reading the metro. He is standing very close to you, you look around the carriage and realise there’s plenty of room everywhere – WTH. “Why is this stranger standing so close to me?” You wonder, and then without giving it much thought, the Brit in you arises.
“Excuse me?” you tap his knee. He looks down with a smile, but you don’t smile back no matter how desperately the Brit in you wants to.
“You ARE in my personal space; can you MOVE! please.”
He looks confused. “Personal space?” he says as he looks around as if expecting other passengers to agree with him in his questioning your sanity.
“Yes. MOVE!” you say with increased confidence you didn’t know you had.
“OK, calm down! I’ll MOOOVE your royal highness!” he says as his pupils dilate at the word move, and in an undeniable sarcastic tone, then moves away. Someone across from you smiles at you and you smile back. You recognise that smile as the ultimate British smile, where someone smiles at you by reflex not because they like you or what you are doing/saying.“Some people…. honestly!” you say out loud to no one in particular and a woman sat next to you says, “I know!” The two-worded sentence that everyone says when they want to show solidarity and affirm agreement.Soon you will be home to binge-watch game of thrones.***