An Open Letter to the People on the Train…

Dear train passengers,

Welcome to the commuting line. I am sure you are enjoying your ride on the vomit comet, as it is so fondly named by regular users, as much as I am. Yet, there a few things that haunt me and I feel like we should share. We’re all friends here.

To the 13 year old girls and their friend, craning your head and pointing before laughing at me. I know, I’m hilarious, I guess I must be up there with Lee Evans and Tina Fey. Maybe you’re pointing because you think I am someone I am not. I mean I have been told by people that, in certain lights, I do look a little bit like one of the Kardashians; not that I see it, but maybe you do. I’m not Khloe, so you can calm down.

I mean, I’m sure no-one would be so obvious when talking smack about a total stranger, not that much older than you (okay, quite a bit older than you, but mentally I still feel 16 at times). However, if you are talking about me, let me teach you a lesson, something I have refined over years of constantly being in and around the general public. If you absolutely feel totally and utterly compelled to make a comment about the appearance of a stranger, don’t point, laugh and crane your head because it is not subtle and not tactical.

P.S It’s getting chilly, you should probably ditch the crop tops and booty shorts and bring a coat out with you. I’m worried you will catch a cold. It’s meant to rain today.

To the drunk boys surrounding me, I can hear you. You chose to sit in the seats in front, behind, to the side and actually next to me. Now, I am not scared, because I have no reason to be right? You’re all just a bunch of lads, who have scooped their hair into tightly gelled man buns and bathed in David Beckham aftershave for a night out, right? You’re out enjoying life and, funnily enough, so am I! So what does start to get my back up is that you speak about me as if I am not there or am up the end of the carriage.

You must mean me, though? Unless there is another brown haired girl, backpack by her feet and holding a coffee, that I can’t see. Maybe there is one sitting next to you the other side. I don’t know, who am I to judge? Yet, if you were really that interested in what coffee I am drinking, where I am going or what I did today, instead of talking loudly about it, why don’t you just ask me? I am sitting there by myself, I’m sure I would indulge you in a little conversation. I am a breathing human being, not just a lump of meat.

To the man who can’t see past the end of this nose, the seat next to me is not the only seat available. After the other boys went on their merry way, I put my bag on the second seat of the two chair seating bank I sat in. Usually, I wouldn’t hold up a seat, but after being surrounded by the “lads on tour” I decided that, since the carriage was almost empty anyway, it wasn’t going to cause too much harm.

Please don’t just sit on my bag and then tut when you find it uncomfortable. I find it uncomfortable that you opened your broadsheet in my face when the rest of the train is empty. There is an abundance of seating in this carriage, however of all the seats in all the train carriages in all the world, you had to sit on mine.

I wouldn’t mind if the train was full, or even if you asked me to move my bag. I could have had bone china or the crown jewels or something in there and you sat on it. I kind of wish I had jam doughnuts in there, just for a tad of Schadenfreude.

To the girl singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to a strangerhe is not impressed and neither are we. As beautiful as your voice may be before a few tequila slammers, it is not the same after. I think we all appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t know if you heard him say through the soulful riffs you added into the second line, but he said it’s not his birthday.

If you want to sing to someone on a train pick a fun song, and I am saying this out of experience (but I was sober and sang a song about smiling because everyone was being grumpy. I did actually get a round of applause too. Might have been out of sympathy, might have been genuine, either way I’ll take it).

You were singing with passion and conviction, and for that I applaud you. The carriage was your stage. Unfortunately, it was a no from all of us, including the un-birthday boy.

To the people waiting at Liverpool Streetif you would just let me get off before you try to get on, we could save those valuable seconds and any bruising that will occur. The trains are, surprisingly, quite big. Just let me get off without surrounding me like wasps to jam, and I’ll move out of your way and better yet, I’ll get completely off of the platform, not just the train.

You don’t need to scowl at me, to push past me, push me back onto the train or to the side. All I want to do is step down onto the platform. I am not going to stand in your way. You don’t need to hit me with your luggage or try and shimmy past, the doors are only so big and will stay open long enough for you to get on. You’re already at the front of the queue, and us Brits’ know queueing better than anyone, right?

I appreciate the fact you tried to help me down that one step by placing your elbow gently into my ribs and using it like a spatula to catapult me out of the doorway, but I was ok to get through by myself. Thank you anyway.

I hope you continue to enjoy your travel and think about the other travellers around you.

Kind Regards

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