The man sitting to my left reached clumsily into his trouser pocket, moving with his entire body. He somehow managed to simultaneously elbow, shoulder, knee and kick me all in one go. That was the fourth time during my short journey on the London underground.
When I boarded the train, weary from my after-work evening class, I hadn't noticed why there was an empty seat: I just saw an empty seat. I didn't register the young pinstriped businessmen sitting in the seat beside it. I should have: whereas everyone else was sitting in a prim, British fashion, he was slouched halfway down the seat, almost parallel to the floor, chin resting on chest. Somehow, this all escaped my notice.
I sat down, and was instantly hit by a solid wall of beer fumes. The drunken young businessman sighed loudly and laboriously, shifted himself into a slightly more upright position, and crossed his long, wobbly legs. This took a couple of goes before his legs obeyed him.
Me being me, I stood (or rather sat) my ground. I was sure he wasn't dangerous- just more than a little sozzled. Besides, there were no more seats, and I was exhausted. Why should I have to move?
Throughout the journey, punctuated by loud sighs, this man would slide down into his seat and then pull himself up again, only to sink back down- all in quick succession. Down, up, down, up, fail to cross legs, fail to cross legs in the other direction, down, up. His movements were jerky whenever he'd correct himself, like when your head snaps up as you catch yourself on the brink of sleep. At one point he very nearly did hit the floor- the entire carriage watched him in rapture, enjoying the 'Will he? Won't he?' pantomime. We were almost disappointed when he snapped himself back to attention. On several occasions his attempts at lucidity would result in me taking an angular limb to the ribs.
When the drunken businessman finally meandered off the train, the remaining original spectators in the carriage grinned at each other, in a rare moment of public transport unity. I think this alone was worth the experience.
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This is my third consecutive post about things happening to me on trains. It's definitely not one of the only three on this blog, either. Which begs the question: what the bloody hell is it with me and trains?
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