Train Pain

My ‘Train Pain’ seems to have been somewhat painless as of late since I have probably only been on about 3 trains since the last blog. Can’t wait until uni starts again at the end of the month and I have to use public transport.

My excitement is not for the sheer fact I will be surrounding myself with disgusting members of the unwashed public, but that I will have something to sarcastically bitch about once again.

The only ‘Train Pain’ to have occurred in the past few months is me being steaming on my way into town and spewing in a shit scented cupboard of a train toilet, poor attempts at being classy once again. 

Glasgow Queen Street > Coatbridge Sunnyside

Sitting down on the train, at a messy table no less, I get my earphones out ready to relax on my journey with some music and sunshine. But the people around me won’t allow that and yet again I fall victim to the unpleasant company of fellow passengers.

Looking ahead through the space in the seats in front I see the classic creep staring at me. He is drinking from a coffee mug, I don’t know where he produced it from on the train but he sips at it whilst staring at me through slits, his pathetic excuse for eyes. For a moment I think this forty something with grey spiked up hair could be the man for me, that is until he starts to mutter to himself for the entirety of the journey.

At the door I see with horror the strange being that I had encountered only 5 minutes before at George Square while sitting on a bench. At George square he walked around, back and forth looking around. I joked with friends that he was ‘scoping out the babes’ or ‘hunting for he’s lunch’. He is grey haired with a massive stomach which I can only imagine is a hard task to carry around and a florescent orange cap, shorts and flip flops. He looks lost on the train and I wonder if he has stumbled upon it in search of some more babes that George Square was lacking in.

Another classic passenger to my right is the guy speaking loudly on the phone and catching half of his conversation he tells someone ‘your better off without that arseh**e love.’ Maybe he is an agony aunt helping a broken hearted friend?

About to sit down in front of the male agony aunt is a half midget/half baby faced man, holding a tall umbrella which almost reaches his chin. Considering Scotland has experienced a rare sunny spell for the last two weeks I can’t help but question where he has been to have needed the umbrella and if he perhaps uses it to ward off people who judge him on his baby looking face and bald patch on the top of his head, which the sun so nicely bounces off.

By this point I have rolled my eyes at my fellow passengers so much so that they may as well be in the back of my head. The music from my phone can’t separate me from them all. Closing my eyes doesn’t help either due to an anonymous passenger with extreme body odour problems.

Exiting the train to my horror the George Square babe magnet is getting off also, I am hoping he doesn’t try to bludgeon me to death with his manky flipflops.

Success of journey home: FAIL.

Sunnyside > Glasgow Queen Street

The train seems boring the first five minutes, a geeky looking guy gives me his seat (it doesn’t sound like I appreciated this but if you saw him you would know why) and I perch on the end of it hoping I don’t fall into the arse print he has kindly left behind.

Then I meet man-child.

The South Park theme tune sounds loudly and I can hear a man on the phone, he has voluntarily become the narrator of everyone’s train journey, I was eager for the job myself but I let him have it (!)

‘Just got on the train…now we’re at Shettleston, I’m probably about 10 minutes away…Yeah, I’m just on the train.’

His phone buddy and he are deciding what to wear tonight like two teenage girls and not to ‘clash’ with each other.

‘But if you wear that then I can’t wear the one I have just like it…’

As I am in angry bitch mode today (no, that’s not every day) I feel like turning around and shouting ‘no one cares you girl scout!’

The train comes to a halt and as he emerges from the seat behind me I am alarmed at what I see. A mid forty something man with a red Adidas hoody and light blue jeans. Is he on his way to work? We don’t know.  But if he is, at least his outfit won’t be clashing with anyone else’s in the office.

It takes all kinds of people to make up a nation. Different race, social stance, personality; everyone is different. Usually within your life you will surround yourself with like minded individuals, the type you see yourself as and enjoy being around on a daily basis. But what happens when you have to be surrounded by people of different ideals for a period of time?

Public transport is what I’m getting at. Trains and busses in particular of course. Both of which accommodate the daily commuters, the old  getting their morning shopping, mothers taking snot nosed children to school and everyone else in between.

Using public transport I have came across people I would not usually. Having to share seats and door handles with these people in a condensed area for the remainder of my commute to college and work. There are often various types of people that, sitting near can make your journey all the more miserable. 

These can vary from the ‘mobile disco’ and by this I mean the annoying individual with their iPod at a painfully high volume and you will spend the journey trying to decipher what tune they are listening to as all you can hear are beats and bass.

If you come across the ‘phone addict’ then you are in for an Eastenders style drama. Usually a female telling her friend every detail of the night before and just how much of a pest her annoying boyfriend is because ‘he never done the bloody dishes’. She won’t be using an ‘inside voice’ to keep her own affairs private, the whole train will be invited to listen.

You might  end up next to ‘sick boy’ the passenger with mucus dripping from their nasal passages and constantly sniffing, coughing and generally being annoying, especially at 9 o’clock in the morning.  Beware of this passenger and never breathe in his germs, or you’ll be ‘sick boy’ on your next commute.

The ‘literary thief’ will really grind your gears as this is the passenger who will be reading your book/newspaper over your shoulder for the entire journey because they didn’t bring their own. To avoid this, dirty looks usually dishearten them, they are a tame type.

Then there is the passenger with the hygiene problems that you are forced upon due to lack of seats. Learn to breathe from your ears as your nose and mouth will be corrupted around this unwashed fare dodger. Classic signs include foul smell, breakfast crumbs scattered around their untamed beard (male or female), dirty clothes and perhaps a crazy look in their eyes that shouts ‘I hate humans’.

Finally. 

If you come across the overweight passenger then bow out and give up. They WILL take up every inch of personal space you have left at your disposal and you WILL be shunned to the tiniest corner of your chair.

So, if this doesn’t take your fancy then learn to drive and enjoy your own music, your own personal space, your own germs and your own stench.

Sunnyside > Glasgow Queen Street

Picture the scene of my morning, it is 9am and having had a morning of arguments with my mother, rushing to get ready, having an empty stomach and surviving on 4 hours sleep. You aren’t in your most socialable mood and the only thing you seek is a seat and a peaceful journey.

The express train however is not one of which that allows personal space and I found myself having to wedge between an obese dole junkie with breakfast crumbs scattered around his untamed beard and a teenage boy with immense personal hygiene issues. Great start.

The good looking guy infront of me seems to cancel the crazies on either end of me and provides a nice morning perve. That is until he starts to ‘discreetly’ pick his nose and then stick his mucus covered finger in his mouth. A scene of which led me to boking and having to hide behind my generic ‘Metro’ newspaper.

Glasgow Queen Street > Sunnyside   

Getting the train home after work training is cancelled, it is a glorious day and the sun is shining so much so that I have wiped the dust from my sunglasses and wear them proudly and ditch my cosy jacket to the confines of my bag.

On the booth opposite me a twenty-something is munching on a nicely scented muffin ( I have the sense of smell comparable to that of a bloodhound) , wearing sunglasses and listening to an i-pod loudly.

He starts singing, whistling and banging his feet similtaniously throughout the journey and whilst others look on in dismay, I cannot help but quietly giggle to myself. He is making me smile.

It is uncertain if this individual perhaps has mental problems due to the social unawareness of him but he sings and hums loudly, sprawls across the seats and gazes out the window content with his jaunt from A to B.

For once, someone is enjoying themselves on the train and not inducing me to banging my skull against the window.

Paisley Gilmour > Glasgow Central

Returning home from a work training course I am standing on the train. My biggest hate, but I suprisingly don’t complain for once, mainly because I’d be talking to myself, and no one wants to be the crazy girl on public transport.

There are two girls talking loudly and I can’t help but nosey in. One girl announces herself as ‘Marianne’ to the man across from her whilst giving him her number. My name also, and I am annoyed at the softness she gives to our name that my accent cannot. She is American, as is the girl beside her. They are attempting to get this shy bookish type Glasgow boy to go out with them tonight and he has clearly never been asked out in his sad existance.

The boy mumbles for a bit and the other Yank girl asks him if he has any friends he can bring. Now this boy undoubtedly lives with his parents, has a pet cat and spends his evenings playing video games whilst eating Wotsits (I’m not judging!). He says no one is available tonight and that he would have to come alone.

Shamelessly Marianne and co decide this is not good enough and with that they get into conversation with the hottie in the other booth.

Another dream crushed for our little lonely boy.

Glasgow Central > Paisley Gilmour

Standing at the platform at Glasgow I can feel eyes burning into the back of my head. I turn around and a small junkie looking type hoisting a large black hold all is nudging a random beside him and staring at me.

I can feel this creep staring at me and it is making me feel physically sick. In the back of my mind I am also wondering what the hell is in that hold all of his.

He appears french…

The train eventually comes and after my usual ritual of walking down the aisles until I find a big empty booth, I sit down. But hey! It wouldn’t be a train story unless there was a weirdo beside me, and who other than my pervey platform friend sits down beside me.

“Looking good darlin’, you’d be even better with a smile on your face” he says to me with a broad Scottish accent, and might I add he is patting my head whilst saying this!

He positions the large grimey hold all bag infront of us and goes to the toilet. Now, being the paranoid freak I am, I am starting to think there is a bomb or something not right in this bag. After consulting my friends I am given suggestions such as ‘the remains of his dead wife’. How pleasant.

When he returns of course I am no where to be seen as I have fled to the other end of the train quicker than this lager breath can piss his booze out.

…Never did find out what was in that bag of his.

After endless status updates on facebook about my train encounters, I decided to make a blog dedicated to all of those little moments on the train where you have to double take, cover your ears or stop yourself from jumping out the window. Because when you are in a confined space with the general public something is always bound to shock.