Festive cheer

Today is my last commute of the year. Ill be working from home for the rest of the holiday season, so it only seems appropriate that today was the day I received a gift that will keep on giving, and it wasn't yet 7am.
A man puked in my hair.
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Yep. Thought I'd leave you with that for a minute. I thought he had somehow sprayed snow from his boots all over those of us sitting on the aisle.
Nope. He had projectile vomited down the aisle as he was exiting the bus. The lady behind me got it across her arm. It arced over my head, pelting my hair and tights as it sprayed across my row and finally finished its trajectory by nailing the woman in front of me square between the shoulder blades.
He didn't even make a sound as it happened, so I didn't compute it until the guy was already gone. I didn't see anything of him except jeans, so I can't even thank him for his yuletide present if I see him in future.
The lady in front didn't know it had happened, so I had to share the joyous seasonal news. I didn't have any frankincense or myrrh, but I did share around some tissues and hand sanitizer.
Unfortunately, although I was less than 10 minutes from home, I have a big day at work and couldn't risk missing trains to go back and change. So I'm currently sitting in the cozy warmth of a train bulleting through picturesque, snow-covered countryside while the aroma gently wafts around my head.
It doesn't smell of cinnamon or nutmeg, or even booze for that matter. If it did, I'd be a bit less worried about the prospect of spending Christmas hugging porcelain and wishing Santa would put me out of my fucking misery.
When I get to my destination, I will be joining the other merry shoppers in a spending spree of new tights and shampoo. I have never been more grateful for the shower in our neighbouring building on campus.
Merry Christmas, dear readers and best wishes for a puke-free season!

6 of one, half a dozen of another

In what I thought was a crafty evasive manoeuvre to avoid sitting within earshot of the Office Workers from Hell, this morning I chose a carriage I don't normally travel in. Instead, I've been saddled with a grunting table hog who is incapable of covering his mouth when he coughs and am opposite the Retail Nightmares. The Retail Nightmares are basically the OWFH, but in non-designer clothes and with the power to fire the co-workers that they bitch about.
These women may have been the subject of a previous post, so apologies for any repetition. They are apparently regional managers of a mid-range clothing store (Dorothy Perkins or Topshop, I'm guessing). When they aren't talking loudly about their stocktaking and cumulative reports (shortened to "kyooms"), they are making incessant mobile calls. You know, the ones that inevitably end with "Hello? Hello? Oh, I've lost my signal" because we are on a train through the Peak District where there is no reception. They turn everyday words into Proper Nouns in a non-ironic fashion. This may be an effort to make their mind-numbing duties seem important. Example: We should complete the Disciplinaries next.
Where I work, any time there is an "important" policy or form with which we must comply, we refer to it as a proper noun in a tongue-and-cheek fashion to emphasise exactly how unimportant this exercise really is. These women actually believe that the Floor Maps of their jeans rack layout in each department is pressing information that Gemma needs to send over immediately.
I can't decide which carriage's occupants are more distracting and inane. But a change is as good as a rest, right?

Some people love Fridays

Anyone who looks forward to Friday is obviously not a commuter on this line. My "on time" train arrived 12 minutes late, and then was swarmed by 4 transport police recovering a lost suitcase. Not a suspicious one, just a lost one. When they finally allowed us on, there was a stampede of people trying to get into seats while a hapless conductor was trying to swim against the current to put out seat reservations.

Once again, I have question the wisdom of putting on only 2 carriages on a train that hits 3 major cities during the evening rush period. I think I only managed to get into a seat because the conductor gave up on the reservations before he got to this end. There's been no attempt in 3 stops to check tickets, so perhaps at least a few people will get a free ride. We eventually set off 16 minutes late, which will inevitably put us behind a local stopping train or something. I'd like to just sit and read, but there is a girl halfway in my seat with her suitcase on her lap because she's scooted over to make room for her colleagues in the aisle. It's fine, and important, but I'm not really in the mood to listen to endless prattle about breast feeding intervention strategies for new mothers.

I was off yesterday recovering from a tummy bug, but dragged myself in for a meeting today (and to collect a turkey - long story). Let's just hope for everyone's sake that I don't have a relapse, because there are about 40 people crammed into the aisle between me and the nearest receptacle. That would make everyone's Friday night, I'm sure.

Happy Friday, everyone!

Train theatre

Ok, train company. Can we just stop pretending now? Frankly, the storyline that the evening train is going to arrive at 18:41 is simply not believable. You might as well just be honest and say that you have absolutely no idea when the damned thing is likely to arrive. Not enamored with the theatre metaphor? Let's try science instead.

If my students submit a report with statistics, it is expected that the numbers include a standard error of the mean (usually indicated by +/-). In your case, the arrival time is always accompanied by a +. This indicates that you are actually misrepresenting the true time at which the train arrives.

In the last few weeks*, my T,W,Th, Fri journeys have gone something like this:

25/10 14 mins late
26/10 24 mins late
27/10 on time (anomalous)
28/10 22 mins late (on hour earlier train)
1/11 8 mins late
8/11 10 mins late (am train)
9/11 30 mins late (this was on 17:22 start, which involved 2 delays and a sprint to have doors slammed in my face on connection)
10/11 29 minutes late
11/11 ~10 mins late (I'd stopped caring by end of week)
15/11 I forgot to look
16/11 trains *CANCELLED* after waiting for 2 hours at the station, Train Buddy drove us. (More on this in a forthcoming post).
17/11 10 mins late
18/11 morning train 11 late (and short 2 carriages), evening train 14 minutes and counting as I type.

*missing dates indicate days on which I was so fed up that I arranged to work from home.

Let's hope next week is better. Perhaps we might aim for 1-2 days of on-time service before December, when we can fully expect snow or leaves to shut the rails down altogether.

-Apologies to my dear readers for the complete lack of humor lately. I'm too annoyed and tired to even try to find the funny in this.

Today went like this...

4.5 hours sleep, alarm in the dark at 4:45 am. Out the door at 5:30. Arrive at work, sun barely up. Work straight through with out food or bathroom break until it's dark again. Miss train. Next train gets stuck. Sprint for connection and miss it. Wait for next train. That train is delayed. Bus smells of feet. Walk in door just shy of 15 hours after leaving. Miss seeing my kid awake at today. Hoping for a glass of wine and an episode of The Wire before I go to sleep and do it all again tomorrow.

Gotta lotta baggage

Today was the comfort test for my new pair of rather saucy ankle boots with a heel height that made me seriously contemplate their practicality. In the end I decided to throw caution to the wind and just buy a pair of shoes because I liked them, for once. My feet survived the various cobbled and hilly trips between buildings and stations. They held up pretty well pounding up and down stairs and concrete halls all afternoon while I gathered specimens for my labs tomorrow. However, they began to cry for mercy this evening after traversing the cobbles again to find my platform had been changed to the other end of the station and I had to sprint to make it.

The train is hot and rammed. There are no seats and the vestibules are stuffed with people standing. It's nearly an hour before the next major station where I might be able to slip into a vacated seat before the influx of new people get on. Unable to bear the thought of swaying back and forth on tender toes until then, I have created my own seat in the luggage rack (flatcap and backpack in photo for scale). It's not wide enough for my laptop, or even my shoulders unless I angle them, but my butt is in here and that makes my feet very happy indeed.

Traveling douchebag

After 30 minutes, this lovely character has managed to systematically violate almost every statute of the train traveller's etiquette:

Feet on the seat: check. (shot me a dirty look when I said, "Excuse me" so I could sit down)

Blockading empty seat with luggage: check. (made no effort to remove it even when the train was packed to standing. Why nobody asked her to move it is beyond me.When the train departed, she waited a few minutes and then put her suitcase up above to guarantee her own space).

Loud mobile phone conversation: Check! (on the "jewel"-encrusted mobile - as if that doesn't qualify one for douche status on it's own).

Foot space hogging: check. (Kick me one more time, I dare you.)

Table space commandeering: check. (and then is feigning sleep so nobody disturbs her to ask her to move).

I think the only things left are bodily functions/grooming or bad smells. Judging by her accent we are probably bound for the same place, so there are another 90 minutes left for her to try.

Sad

I am trapped at a table with three young men who are drinking 500ml cans of cider at 10am. They are having discussions about friends named Teabag, Pookie, and Shots. They are loud and annoying, but that's not what I find uncomfortable about the situation.

They have a beautiful little girl of about 3 years old with them. She is sucking back Tic Tacs and Lucozade as fast as they are sucking back the booze. What should be a lovely smile is marred by a mouthful of brown teeth, complete with hypoplasia and the characteristic tooth shape of a kid who probably still has a pacifier. Wonder if they'll notice if I snatch her up and run. Maybe after a couple more cans, I'll get my chance...

Epic

Train Buddy found this and shared it: <http://www.mentalcrumble.com/blog/2011/6/9/the-lost-swt-1830hrs-train-from-waterloo-to-portsmouth.html> http://www.mentalcrumble.com/blog/2011/6/9/the-lost-swt-1830hrs-train-from-waterloo-to-portsmouth.html

Not sure even my worst journey has stacked up against this. Suicide and snow days have come close, but there wasn't a dance floor.

A new word

Sodcasting - the word for people who play their tinny dance music from their phones like it's a boombox. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-13749313

Special thanks to Dr Dee for the link.

A pair of douchebags

I should always trust my first instinct. A little voice told me to sit somewhere else, but I coveted the table space on a busy train so I could get a couple of hours in on a project with a deadline. There is a couple at my table who both need a punch.

The first clue should have been the fact that the guy is sucking on the girl's neck while calling her "mate". Whenever he is bored, which appears to be approximately every 40 seconds or so, he begins belting out the opening lines to The Lion King (you know the one... Laaaa helayla or something) in Scouse. His "mate" is popping her gum and giggling.

They had a war of blowing raspberries at each other and trying to steal each others' gum. He is wearing a button up shirt, waistcoat, and tie while complaining how hot he is. They have knocked into my feet and my computer at least 12 times.

Thank goodness they've left the train after only 26 minutes. Another 5 and there would have been sailors blushing at my response.

Office from hell

I think I've posted before about the horrible catty women (and one bloke) that spend an hour each morning vacillating between horrible management speak and talking tons of crap about everyone in their office who isn't present at that very second.

Last week, Train Buddy and I were subjected to a very loud and desperatly boring conversation about pregnancy that made it quite plain that these women were convinced they were the only people to have ever gone through it. They also seemed to be of the opinion that it was the most fascinating subject in the world for everyone nearby. It was even more excruciating than a previous conversation they had that contained the following terminology (I'm not making this up): Quality issue, expanding remit, systems and processes, quarterly report, feedback, involvement in the decision-making process, going forward.

But this morning, there was a tiny ray of sunshine. Apparently on Friday, they had been engaging in their customary shredding of co-workers. After sparing no one from their manicured claws, a man introduced himself. As their new boss.

Peed off

Why do I suddenly have to pay to pee at the station? Is my £4500 annual season pass not enough to cover a couple of scraps of loo roll? Perhaps the barriers could scan tickets instead. Then only heroin addicts who are going places will use them to shoot up.

This is not your living room

Oh my god, people. I know it's a long journey, and some of us spend more waking hours on this godforsaken train than we do with our families, but don't get too comfortable.

This morning, Train Buddy and I have been subjected to waves of the most horrendous stench. We can't pin down the actual culprit, but based on the time lapse between TB's facial contortions and mine, we know it's making it's way down the carriage from behind him. Based on the odor, I should be on the lookout for someone whose face is alternately green and then relieved.

The woman opposite is nicely decked out in a coordinating suit and shoes. And she is clipping her fingernails. Somehow, I think that is almost more repulsive than Mr Sneaky Flatulence.

Certain things should be done in a bathroom in private, or in front of a spouse who no longer has to find you attractive. I'm just waiting for the guy next to us to pop in a DVD and start scratching his balls and then the scenario will be complete.

Morning awesomeness

I have just witnessed something awesome. An extraordinarily inebriated Scouser just got on the train (it's 9am). He was making a fuss, talking incomprehensible and loud bollocks. It was disturbing enough that people were actually looking around. This is England. If somebody took a dump in the aisle, they would ignore it so as not to make a fuss. So, if people were acknowledging the behaviour, you know it was pretty disruptive. The conductor did his best to calm the guy, but to no avail.

He then staggered down the aisle with his open bottle of Cobra and proceeded to sit on the guy sitting at the table opposite me. No idea why, just chose a rather well-built chap and sat on him.

Well-built chap authoritatively told Drunky not to sit on him. When he didn't listen, well-built chap popped him into an arm lock behind his back, walked him into the vestibule, and pushed him up against the door and had a word. Conductor went to sort it out, but drunky was suddenly calm. He even came over and managed a sort of garbled apology to the other guy at the table. Yeehaw. That dude deserves a merit badge. Drunky now has a welcoming committee of cops awaiting him at our final destination.

The salon

Got an early train home today and found myself inside a mobile beauty parlour. There was a girl across the aisle giving herself a full manicure, complete with three coats of toxic fumes. I tried not to watch where the cuticle clippings and file dust went [shudder].

The girl opposite was extremely pretty, with a very natural and fresh look. She spent the next hour painting, lining and blending. Then she teased her previously sleek dark hair to twice its original volume. By the time she had finished, she just looked like an average girl that had to paint herself a pretty face. Wonder if her daddy knows she keeps about £100 of makeup hidden in her bag to put on when she leaves the house.

Hurk

Hurk. Huuuurk. This is the sound that one makes when gagging up morning coffee because a fellow passenger does one of the following:

Clips her fingernails, allowing the bits to fly around.

Makes his own contribution to global warming through gluteal methane release. Smells like last night was curry.

Decides to pick his brains, quite literally. We are talking second knuckle here, people.

Makes that sound of sucking phlegm from the nose clear into the stomach. Is there a name for that?

Absently plays with his two veg through his sweatpants like he's watching telly on the sofa.

Hurk.

Family ties

I feel bad for the poor Da' on the other end of the phone getting an earful from his loud Scottish daughter about her sister. I feel worse for the rest of us having to listen. The train is so crowded this morning that even if the woman was considerate enough to take her call in the vestibule, she could nae get there for all the people.

I'll get you next time!

The Earbud Avenger has met an evil arch enemy. On the bus this morning, a man was playing his music so loudly that nobody could tell where it was coming from. A pal, Hagrid, was on the bus too. Despite being a very large rugby player, he shrugged it off citing his aversion to confrontation and left me to plot my strategy. This was definitely a job for the Earbud Avenger.

From several rows in front, I asked the offender to please turn it down. He smiled disarmingly and removed his earbuds as if to show me it wasn't him. I apologised, and the sound carried on.

A gruff old Yorkshireman shouted, "Ayup Friend!" in a threatening manner at the same man a moment later to no avail. The woman behind Mr Disarming Smile indicated with her head that it was indeed his music we were all suffering from. It was then that I realized I'd been had.

I'd met a tough adversary. He was a traveling douchebag. You may have won this time, but next time you won't be so lucky!

Time share seating

This morning's train rocked up with two carriages. Yippee!

Cue announcement from Hangdog Conductor, without a hint of irony, "We apologise for the crowded nature of this morning's journey. Due to a clerical error, we will not be honouring seat reservations".

Now, I've heard this announcement at least once a week for the last two years, and that's only on the days that they bother with the apology. Perhaps the clerk that is responsible for the "clerical errors" might need some job retraining. What the announcement really means is, "Season pass holders don't get seat reservations, so you can get stuffed. All others with that have seat reservations can also get stuffed."

Train buddy and I managed to get seats this morning - just. Several of the other regular travelers that join at the next station weren't so lucky. However, I set up a seat time share arrangement with them. Community spirit isn't dead!

As poor Hangdog Conductor tried vainly to check tickets along the aisle that was virtually impenetrable with passengers, we enquired why the service had been more abominable than usual over the last week or so. He had no answer other than a nearly robotic, "On behalf of East Midlands Trains, we apologise for inconvenience [sigh]".