Train Stories – Manners!

This might bore the fuck out of you … but I’m a creature of habit.

It’s not deliberate but if something works, then I tend do it again .. and again.

Most days, going to work I have my morning routine.   I wake up at 630 even although my first alarm isn’t until 715.

It takes me a while to get moving, bit of a browse, you know the kind of thing ..

I leave the house at 830, I’m parked and have walked the few hundred yards to the station to get there for the 0839.

Socially, I often go to the same Indian, usually order the same meal. I go to a small number of pubs, depending on who I’m with and what the occasion is.

Dull as … eh?

Having such s routine on my daily commute,  you see the same people a lot, you notice what they wear, when they’ve had a haircut, you pick up snippets of their telephone conversations and infer assumptions about their life’s.

You also notice the tourists, the one-time journey companions because no-one of sane mind chooses to travel at peak times unless they have to. It’s just not a pleasant experience and more expensive too.

She’s standing beside me now, 5’4″, grey hair, mid 80s, more slight than frail.  She has that wiry build that you just know she’s always on the go.

Her walking shoes are testament to that. Stout leather, practical and have seen a few miles but look as if they were polished yesterday for today’s trip.

I’d bet that her house is dated but immaculate and she likes having everything in its right place.

The train slows to stop, I’m closest to the door, call me sad but I do this a lot and it’s a bonus if you get a seat on the ten minute journey into Glasgow.

Behind me the ever present fat-boy moves closer to push on to the train as he usually does, using his sizeable height, weight and girth to accidentally-on-purpose press people aside.

You know the type, over-fed, geeky looking prick with three chins, jowls and a laptop rucksack over both shoulders.

He’s late 30s but looks like an overgrown tubby schoolboy.   He probably works in IT support and has never did a real job or got his hands dirty in his life.

He’s never actually pushed me, but I’ve been aware of his presence against me when the train is packed, Usually that stupid back-pack taking up too much space and adding to his already sizeable girth.

I press the button for the doors to open and hold back to allowing the lady to board, then as she struggles a little, I step towards her to help her lift her case onto the platform.

As I do, fat-boy pushes past in the small gap between myself and the train.

I pick the ladies case up and turn to give him a word, but he’s gone.

Two minutes later and the lady is seated, her case beside her and I’m left standing at the door.

She mouths a smile and a thank you in my direction and I smile and nod back a your welcome.

It’s nice to be nice.

Well you’d think.

Fat-boy is a row further up the carriage, headphones on and face buried in his smartphone.

I don’t know if he realises how rude he is and is choosing not to avoid making eye contact or that’s just his routine.

But why is it that I want to go up and punch him square in the face?

I mean, help me out here … I’m questioning myself.

It’s not really appropriate .. well it’s completely not appropriate .. but there’s just something in his arrogant bloated visage that makes me want to knock him down a peg or two.

Something that makes me want to use a little bit of violence to teach him some basic manners ..  even although I know that would be wrong.

Is it me?

Or were some people just not disciplined enough as children?

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