Train Politics

It’s raining again. I stare at the suited individual standing a few metres down the platform and think how blessed I am to understand the politics of train travel. Now, I may be a bag, and I may spend my time writing a blog that no one reads and inventing humorous lyrics to songs that no one listens to, but I’m not stupid! I know where to stand on a train platform, and I certainly know the basic etiquette involved in this mode of transport. I know which seats I prefer, I know that no matter how vulnerable I look; commuters will happily push me aside as they storm into the carriage. I know to sit in the reserved seating to give myself extra leg room and I know the corresponding platform position for several separate train doors in several different stations. Unlike the idiot who’s standing just a few meters away, no doubt filled with a sense of confidence that he has correctly guessed a place where the train doors will halt.

I just can’t understand the theory behind commuters who stand mid-platform, especially when knowledgeable groups of businessmen cluster at unmarked departure points. Nor do I understand the incessant pushing at the ticket barriers; suit-clad dodgems darting back and forth between queues as if we were in Europe. What’s irritating is that these speedy individuals inevitably have the wrong ticket, and are then forced to back out of the ticket barrier and cut across the current to the attendant at the end.

Traversing the dangerous world of train travel could easily fill volumes, or potentially a Train Travel Etiquette for Dummies volume, which I would happily pen. A few points to note for newbie commuters would be; escalators are inevitably quicker than taking the stairs, speaking in the quiet coach is the highest personal insult to those around you, and getting your suitcase stuck in a narrow aisle should be avoided at all costs, unless you want a murderous pile up behind you. This same rule could easily apply to the ticket barriers.

I glance over at the figure on the platform who, I’m guessing, is new to the area, despite his aura of quiet confidence. The train slowly approaches and my group rev their throttles ready to dive into the carriage headfirst. We all subconsciously note that no one is waiting to get off the arriving train, so we won’t have to get out of the way: much the better as none of us would anyway.

Out of the corner of my plastic eye I notice that my unfortunate friend has disappeared, probably having realised his mistake. The door light flashes, everyone piles forward; in the rush I am pushed aside by the dirtiest trick in the book. My suited friend slides in around me, and I politely give way. This is my downfall, I am incapable of being rude and, as a bag, I am also unable to object to such behaviour, but then what are politics if not dirty methods of getting ahead of the crowd?