Treasure the present

My commute is simply unpleasant. No other description sums it up more accurately. I get irritated actually (quelle surprise!) at people who use words inappropriately. Travesty, abomination, disaster and horrific are the sort of words used routinely by people to describe minor issues. The traffic is NOT horrific, it’s annoying. Your night out was not a disaster, it was disappointing. I am sure there are folk who think I down-play things and am over-optimistic, but I prefer to reserve words for appropriate use. How can a word used to describe the situation in Haiti, such as devastating, be used by some rent-a-gob on the TV news to describe their feelings at missing out on their fancy holiday due to weather. No, it’s not about relativity, because that sanctions the amount of misery these folk are claiming to suffer from. Real grief and sadness are not caused by a cancelled flight, being unable to get into the restaurant of your choice or other such ‘calamities’.

The words that really infuriate me being used out of context are abortion and rape. My ex-boss once described a document that he’d been sent as a total abortion. I overheard and was compelled to tell him never to use that word in such a context again. He did at least ‘get it’ though I imagine he went away thinking ‘hysterical, feminist bitch, better not upset her as she’s not pretty when she’s angry’. I also did a double take the first time I saw face-rape being used on facebook. I do appreciate that these words have probably been misappropriated by teens, desperate to shock and have a language of their own. What saddens me is when people my age adopt them and bandy them around to try to be cool. Abortions and rape are serious, life-affecting events that should not be trivialised and whilst I am sure being a woman has an impact on my reaction, anyone with an ounce of sensitivity would know not to use words in public that might upset others.

Anyway, back to my commute! It’s unpleasant. I don’t want to do it any more but can’t find a solution. Moving in to town would be expensive. It’s doable but I would rather not have rent which feels exorbitant.

I have 40 minutes each way to endure (on a good day – more like 50 on a bad) and I can not seem to make these in any way, shape or form enjoyable. Sure, it’s a lot to ask, given the fact that commuting is not renowned for it’s pleasures, but something has to be more pleasant than the daily grind on South Eastern trains.

I have tried getting up early and avoiding the crowds – ha, clearly there are a lot more people who have to be in before 7.30 than I realised. There is obviously a dearth of trains at that time so having tested the 6.30 and realised it’s no better, my 7.15 departure remains my train of choice. It’s always crowded by the time it reaches me and I have rarely sat down on a journey in the whole time I’ve been commuting from Charlton. But crowded is bearable if people showed some semblance of respect towards their fellow passengers. I could rant for Britain on the innumerable transgressions of my fellow passengers but the major gripes include:

- Being hemmed in. I am 5ft 1.5”. My head is about level with the average man’s armpit and they appear oblivious to this fact. The over 6ft guys don’t even see me. I might as well be an ant. They often sport rucksacks and happily swing them in my face. All I need is two men with ipods on, both towering above me with various appendages on either side of me and I feel claustrophobic and invisible. Imagine this of a morning, before one has really woken up, the rain tipping down outside and the tinny sound of popular music adding to the atmosphere. If I’m not depressed already I am then.
- Activists. There are some women who are simply hell bent on sitting down. Even when there are no seats. They will tut and stare angrily at every seated person until a man worries she might be pregnant (she’s usually just fat) and offers her his seat. However, if she fails to secure a seat she will end up standing next to me (yes, always me) and doing what I term ‘spreading out’. The bag goes on the floor as it’s usually heavy and if it lands on my foot, so what? She wants to read the Metro and she wants to have it fully open so she can see everything at once, rather than folding in half as considerate folk do. Her phone goes but she has a coffee in one hand and the mobile is at the bottom of the bag so after rummaging around for it, elbowing everyone in close proximity, it’s almost a guarantee that said coffee will be decorating my shoes. Women feel the cold more than men so she’s probably sporting one of those puffa jackets or about 13 layers and is therefore taking up twice the space others do before she’s even started her appropriation of all the available space. Yes, men do it too but I can assure you that my tutting or headshaking towards a man usually gets results. Women tend to respond by doing it more or pushing for an all out fight.
- Utterly selfish bastards (non-gender specific) who think bikes and push chairs should not be folded during rush hour. I class each unfolded item as one extra seat/space per person. The mother who has a seat for her, one for her child and an unfolded pushchair blocking the standing area is quite simply a selfish 3-seat hogging (for the price of one ticket) cunt.

So how does this relate to treasuring the present? Well I have calculated that I spend at least 1.5 hours every day, 5 days a week, 52 weeks of the year inhaling someone’s armpit like a sardine. Not only does this time feel like it is being wasted (my attempts at reading are invariably thwarted) but it is also spent wishing it was over and the sooner the better. I can neither treasure it nor avoid it and I feel cheated. God knows other people suffer far worse hardships but what annoys me is that I willingly subject myself to this. I buy the ticket and shove my way on to this hell hole on wheels on a daily basis. There is absolutely nothing to treasure about this daily grind and I am determined to find a workable solution.