"I can't believe how casual the bride's being about everything. When I asked her how she wanted the bridemaids' hairstyles to be, she just said 'let them choose: I just want them to be happy.' Can you believe that? It's totally unacceptable."
-A lady bitching about how her bride-to-be friend is planning her wedding.
Showing posts with label london underground. Show all posts
Showing posts with label london underground. Show all posts
Tuesday, 31 March 2015
Wednesday, 11 March 2015
London Mode: Engaged
I returned to Reykjavik last Thursday. Alas, I still didn't see any Northern Lights thanks to the tricksy Icelandic weather, but I still had a great time on the Golden Circle tour and walking around the beautiful city.
By a stroke of complete luck, an old school friend I haven't seen in nine years happened to also be in Reykjavik, so we met up for lunch one day- myself with my friend Siu Yen and her with her boyfriend. We got to discussing how friendly the people are in Iceland. In fact, Iceland is sometimes also known as "Niceland"! I found myself becoming more open and friendly to strangers in general, as a result: the country made me just a little less guarded.
Fast-forward to being back home in London. This evening on the train, I stared straight past a friend from dance and only noticed her when she physically called my name and ran after me as I walked off. I couldn't stop apologising.
What happened? Well, I call it "London Mode". It's that mode that everyone from a large city finds themselves adopting sooner or later: a sort of self-defence against the endless amount of bodies and noise. I've fought it off for a long time, trying to remain in-tune with my fellow human beings. Alas, it seems that I have unwillingly mentally downloaded London Mode as a default.
A friend told me a story recently about how someone on the London Underground fell over and hit their head (my friend only learned about this after being stuck outside the closed station, waiting to be let in). The poor bastard lay bleeding on the ground for about fifteen minutes before anyone would help them. In fact, there were people stepping over him.
I don't think I'll ever get to that level of London Mode (the level at which you literally just stop caring and become numb to other people). However I think that even if I adopted Icelandic openness in London, I think I'd very quickly be taken advantage of by my brilliant, cruel city. In a city where people are increasingly afraid of making eye contact for fear of being stabbed, I'm afraid that London Mode is a fate every Londoner must adopt sooner or later.
By a stroke of complete luck, an old school friend I haven't seen in nine years happened to also be in Reykjavik, so we met up for lunch one day- myself with my friend Siu Yen and her with her boyfriend. We got to discussing how friendly the people are in Iceland. In fact, Iceland is sometimes also known as "Niceland"! I found myself becoming more open and friendly to strangers in general, as a result: the country made me just a little less guarded.
Fast-forward to being back home in London. This evening on the train, I stared straight past a friend from dance and only noticed her when she physically called my name and ran after me as I walked off. I couldn't stop apologising.
What happened? Well, I call it "London Mode". It's that mode that everyone from a large city finds themselves adopting sooner or later: a sort of self-defence against the endless amount of bodies and noise. I've fought it off for a long time, trying to remain in-tune with my fellow human beings. Alas, it seems that I have unwillingly mentally downloaded London Mode as a default.
A friend told me a story recently about how someone on the London Underground fell over and hit their head (my friend only learned about this after being stuck outside the closed station, waiting to be let in). The poor bastard lay bleeding on the ground for about fifteen minutes before anyone would help them. In fact, there were people stepping over him.
I don't think I'll ever get to that level of London Mode (the level at which you literally just stop caring and become numb to other people). However I think that even if I adopted Icelandic openness in London, I think I'd very quickly be taken advantage of by my brilliant, cruel city. In a city where people are increasingly afraid of making eye contact for fear of being stabbed, I'm afraid that London Mode is a fate every Londoner must adopt sooner or later.
Wednesday, 4 February 2015
Overheard on the Tube
"So then I flung myself on the bed and shouted 'mentor me!'"
"Haha! And did he 'mentor' you?"
"Haha! And did he 'mentor' you?"
"... No. It was super awkward."
~ A gem from the Northern Line this evening.
~ A gem from the Northern Line this evening.
Saturday, 5 July 2014
Surrounded by Weirdos
On the train. Where else?
Reading quietly in my carriage, on my way back home from my Wednesday evening Mandarin class, I distantly noticed that a man had gotten up from his seat opposite me to sit next to me. I didn't really question why he had decided to switch seats mid-journey, engrossed in my book as I was. What I did question though was the increasing cramped conditions due to his arm sneaking further and further from the arm rest (which he had taken firm command of), and over into my space. I kept shifting sideways, hoping he'd just stop, but he kept shifting even more so our bare arms were touching (being a hot summer's day, everyone was wearing short sleeves).
I considered asking him to budge up- I'm not usually one for demurring- but since incidences of violence from such 'challenges' as that have been on the up and this guy looked like the type to look for a challenge, I decided just to hold firm. It's not fair to judge on appearances, I know, but I wasn't feeling lucky.
As I became increasingly irritated at someone else's (very hairy) arm trying to get to know mine better and venturing into my ribs, the train stopped to let on another flow of people. In the now empty spot opposite me now sat a wiry, twitchy guy with very curly hair, who promptly got out an entire pre-packed pasta salad and a bottle of Mountain Dew and proceeded to have his dinner on the train.
I didn't really mind too much: perhaps it had been a long day at work and this was his only chance to grab a bite. What did start to become a bother though was when he started belching loudly and wiping his mouth ostentatiously. Bother became slight worry when he put his now-empty salad pack back in his rucksack, chucked the bottle behind his seat and began to sway a little. Was he feeling unwell?
I considered asking if he was alright, but suddenly he began to twitch and shake ever so slightly, like he was trying to shake off invisible flies. I decided to stay put. I became very glad for my decision not to interfere, because soon every so often he'd bend over, head between knees, shake his head and mumble something, before emerging with wild eyes.
Two stops later and the hairy-armed guy, to my vast relief, got off. I wasn't completely at ease though: twitchy guy was still opposite me. At least there was only one strange person to worry about, though.
That is, until a lady on her mobile phone took the place of hairy-armed guy by my side.
I didn't really pay attention to her at first. Slowly, however, I began to pick up patterns in whatever she was saying over the phone. I couldn't understand the language, but whatever she was saying sounded a little like "I'll make you soup." Slowly, I realised that she was saying this over and over again. "I'll make you soup. I'll make you soup. I'll make you soup. Aha. Aha. I'll make you soup."
And then I realised we were still underground, with no possible phone signal.
"I'll make you soup. Aha. Aha. I'll make you soup. I'll make you soup."
Twitchy guy strode jerkily off the train a few stops after, but I was alone with the lady on her phone next to me for the remainder of the journey.
I had 15 minutes of "I'll make you soup." before my final stop at the end of the line. As the train pulled into my station, I got up, and so did the lady on her phone.
"I'll make you soup. Okay, bye."
I stared after her in disbelief as she strode off.
~End~
Reading quietly in my carriage, on my way back home from my Wednesday evening Mandarin class, I distantly noticed that a man had gotten up from his seat opposite me to sit next to me. I didn't really question why he had decided to switch seats mid-journey, engrossed in my book as I was. What I did question though was the increasing cramped conditions due to his arm sneaking further and further from the arm rest (which he had taken firm command of), and over into my space. I kept shifting sideways, hoping he'd just stop, but he kept shifting even more so our bare arms were touching (being a hot summer's day, everyone was wearing short sleeves).
I considered asking him to budge up- I'm not usually one for demurring- but since incidences of violence from such 'challenges' as that have been on the up and this guy looked like the type to look for a challenge, I decided just to hold firm. It's not fair to judge on appearances, I know, but I wasn't feeling lucky.
As I became increasingly irritated at someone else's (very hairy) arm trying to get to know mine better and venturing into my ribs, the train stopped to let on another flow of people. In the now empty spot opposite me now sat a wiry, twitchy guy with very curly hair, who promptly got out an entire pre-packed pasta salad and a bottle of Mountain Dew and proceeded to have his dinner on the train.
I didn't really mind too much: perhaps it had been a long day at work and this was his only chance to grab a bite. What did start to become a bother though was when he started belching loudly and wiping his mouth ostentatiously. Bother became slight worry when he put his now-empty salad pack back in his rucksack, chucked the bottle behind his seat and began to sway a little. Was he feeling unwell?
I considered asking if he was alright, but suddenly he began to twitch and shake ever so slightly, like he was trying to shake off invisible flies. I decided to stay put. I became very glad for my decision not to interfere, because soon every so often he'd bend over, head between knees, shake his head and mumble something, before emerging with wild eyes.
Two stops later and the hairy-armed guy, to my vast relief, got off. I wasn't completely at ease though: twitchy guy was still opposite me. At least there was only one strange person to worry about, though.
That is, until a lady on her mobile phone took the place of hairy-armed guy by my side.
I didn't really pay attention to her at first. Slowly, however, I began to pick up patterns in whatever she was saying over the phone. I couldn't understand the language, but whatever she was saying sounded a little like "I'll make you soup." Slowly, I realised that she was saying this over and over again. "I'll make you soup. I'll make you soup. I'll make you soup. Aha. Aha. I'll make you soup."
And then I realised we were still underground, with no possible phone signal.
"I'll make you soup. Aha. Aha. I'll make you soup. I'll make you soup."
Twitchy guy strode jerkily off the train a few stops after, but I was alone with the lady on her phone next to me for the remainder of the journey.
I had 15 minutes of "I'll make you soup." before my final stop at the end of the line. As the train pulled into my station, I got up, and so did the lady on her phone.
"I'll make you soup. Okay, bye."
I stared after her in disbelief as she strode off.
~End~
Sunday, 15 June 2014
A Friendly DFL in Brighton
I spent the day in Brighton yesterday visiting my friend Vicky (the same Vicky I visited in Berlin during her time teaching there). The subject of what Brighton thinks of London came up when I mentioned that I liked how many of the streets shared the same name as famous streets and places in London (Bond Street, Trafalgar Street, Kensington Street etc).
DFL. Down From London. It's not generally something that's said in a positive light when uttered by Brightonians- wealthy, rude, arrogant Londoners buy up holiday homes and drive property prices up, make an almighty mess during raucous hen parties and stag nights, and generally clutter up the streets as clueless tourists during weekends. However, since I fit into none of those categories- especially not the 'wealthy' part- I'd classify myself as Mostly Harmless, like the entry on humans in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
I love Brighton. I love London as my home and territory and have no illusions of leaving, but I love Brighton as its own separate entity, with its own separate personality. It's something I never felt about Birmingham for example, despite having lived there for five years. It does have some similarities to Central London (particularly Camden Town in some areas, and Camden Town is one of my favourite places in the entire world), in terms of diversity and wonderful quirkiness. However it embraces these sides much more heartily than London rather than being politely embarrassed by them. As for the atmosphere, it's simply more pleasant. People joke about having to be a certain kind of person to be able to bear London: big, bustling, hectic, shiny, dangerous, brilliant London. Well, it's true: you do have to be a certain type of person to survive my city. I say this with a unique and exquisite mix of pride and shame.
I think you do have to have a small, bitter, hardened kernel at the centre of your heart to stand a city where millions of people are crammed into one small place, always in a rush and not allowed to look each other in the eye- or worse, smile at each other. I am definitely a Londoner: I can phase seamlessly through a solid wall of bodies on Oxford Street, mentally shut myself out on a Spam-packed tube carriage and never feel safe while feeling like it's normal to never feel safe. However, I also notice strangers that need a hand and help them, chat to sales assistants like they're human beings and, horror of horrors, smile. I think this small, alien part of me belongs in Brighton, even though the rest of me is and always will be organically Londoner. I'm not saying Brighton is without its own problems, but in any case, it's nice to know that that little part of me has somewhere to feel at home in for a while when it feels like an outsider the rest of the time.
Also, you can see the sea!!
DFL. Down From London. It's not generally something that's said in a positive light when uttered by Brightonians- wealthy, rude, arrogant Londoners buy up holiday homes and drive property prices up, make an almighty mess during raucous hen parties and stag nights, and generally clutter up the streets as clueless tourists during weekends. However, since I fit into none of those categories- especially not the 'wealthy' part- I'd classify myself as Mostly Harmless, like the entry on humans in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
I love Brighton. I love London as my home and territory and have no illusions of leaving, but I love Brighton as its own separate entity, with its own separate personality. It's something I never felt about Birmingham for example, despite having lived there for five years. It does have some similarities to Central London (particularly Camden Town in some areas, and Camden Town is one of my favourite places in the entire world), in terms of diversity and wonderful quirkiness. However it embraces these sides much more heartily than London rather than being politely embarrassed by them. As for the atmosphere, it's simply more pleasant. People joke about having to be a certain kind of person to be able to bear London: big, bustling, hectic, shiny, dangerous, brilliant London. Well, it's true: you do have to be a certain type of person to survive my city. I say this with a unique and exquisite mix of pride and shame.
I think you do have to have a small, bitter, hardened kernel at the centre of your heart to stand a city where millions of people are crammed into one small place, always in a rush and not allowed to look each other in the eye- or worse, smile at each other. I am definitely a Londoner: I can phase seamlessly through a solid wall of bodies on Oxford Street, mentally shut myself out on a Spam-packed tube carriage and never feel safe while feeling like it's normal to never feel safe. However, I also notice strangers that need a hand and help them, chat to sales assistants like they're human beings and, horror of horrors, smile. I think this small, alien part of me belongs in Brighton, even though the rest of me is and always will be organically Londoner. I'm not saying Brighton is without its own problems, but in any case, it's nice to know that that little part of me has somewhere to feel at home in for a while when it feels like an outsider the rest of the time.
Also, you can see the sea!!
Thursday, 12 December 2013
Tube Troubles: Unsolicited Drunken Contact
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.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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?
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.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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?
Friday, 6 December 2013
Sarcasm Done Right: Today on the Tube
I laughed openly, and was surprised that I was one of only two that did, out of the ten people in my carriage. A third cracked a smile, but that was all. I could only guess that either the others hadn't gotten the joke, or were just being awkwardly British about it.
Just before the doors of the train had closed, the driver's voice- female and sweetly acidic- had announced over the speakers:
'To the gentleman holding the doors open: this is not the last train. I repeat, to the gentleman holding the doors: this is not the last train.'
Friday, 29 November 2013
In Which I Act Uncharacteristically Starry-Eyed
As my train pulled into Euston underground station, I stood up and made my way to the doors. The doors opened, and I found myself standing in the direct eye line of a rather good-looking guy. We stared each other for the longest two seconds ever, and quickly diverted our gazes, embarrassed. I dodged out of the way of the oncoming crowd of people who were waiting to board the train with this guy, whilst I hopped off. As I sidled past him, I stole one last glance, as if to make sure he really existed.
I caught him red-handed in his own second-glance at me, just before we were both buffeted apart by the tide of the crowd.
Utterly disorientated, I turned around, walked straight into a wall and then proceeded to walk in the wrong direction.
The train, of course, left (and a few minutes later I found myself on the wrong platform having come to from my daze).
The unusual thing about this story is that I never act like this. This has never happened to me before- even in my last long-term relationship (RIP) it took me almost a full year to fully realise that I had come to be in love my friend rather than just love him in the platonic sense. Sure I can admire good looks when I see them, but I never go ga-ga over it. I don't even this this guy was what you'd call classically handsome or beautiful, or even particularly striking. But something about this guy caught my attention a couple of nights ago, and apparently him too. I didn't even have anything on my face- I checked afterwards just to make sure.
Well, all else I can say this: even though I still don't really believe in true love at first sight, I think I'll be more lenient about the idea of attraction at first sight- and I'll carry on hoping that no-one saw me walk into that wall. Especially not that guy,
I caught him red-handed in his own second-glance at me, just before we were both buffeted apart by the tide of the crowd.
Utterly disorientated, I turned around, walked straight into a wall and then proceeded to walk in the wrong direction.
The train, of course, left (and a few minutes later I found myself on the wrong platform having come to from my daze).
The unusual thing about this story is that I never act like this. This has never happened to me before- even in my last long-term relationship (RIP) it took me almost a full year to fully realise that I had come to be in love my friend rather than just love him in the platonic sense. Sure I can admire good looks when I see them, but I never go ga-ga over it. I don't even this this guy was what you'd call classically handsome or beautiful, or even particularly striking. But something about this guy caught my attention a couple of nights ago, and apparently him too. I didn't even have anything on my face- I checked afterwards just to make sure.
Well, all else I can say this: even though I still don't really believe in true love at first sight, I think I'll be more lenient about the idea of attraction at first sight- and I'll carry on hoping that no-one saw me walk into that wall. Especially not that guy,
Saturday, 27 April 2013
Unintentional Gluttony, Brain Freeze and Rest
I revisited one of my favourite places for cake today (which also happens to be the location that this post took place in). I always become a little over-ambitious when it comes to dessert, so I tried to go light on the drink- to no avail.
Also (see, this post isn't just a lazy repost!) the last part of this post's title should really be 'Lack of Rest'. I've been burning my candle at both ends lately, with a full-time job, writing for four blogs in total, baking and recipe-creating for two out of those four blogs, looking into more writing work on the side to build experience and looking into training and courses for myself in my spare time. Then I exercise nearly every day, and snatch a few moments here and there for other hobbies like craft and music (ah the days when all of my spare hours were spent on the piano...) There are, quite literally, not enough hours in the day.
I love being busy, but I thought I was fine with energy levels until today on the tube, when I wandered onto two wrong trains in a row to meet my visiting friend today, and then straight away led her onto three wrong trains in different directions to a place that I go to all the time.
I think it's a sign I need some me-time. Looking at my diary, I think I can book myself a time slot for that sometime in June...
Also (see, this post isn't just a lazy repost!) the last part of this post's title should really be 'Lack of Rest'. I've been burning my candle at both ends lately, with a full-time job, writing for four blogs in total, baking and recipe-creating for two out of those four blogs, looking into more writing work on the side to build experience and looking into training and courses for myself in my spare time. Then I exercise nearly every day, and snatch a few moments here and there for other hobbies like craft and music (ah the days when all of my spare hours were spent on the piano...) There are, quite literally, not enough hours in the day.
I love being busy, but I thought I was fine with energy levels until today on the tube, when I wandered onto two wrong trains in a row to meet my visiting friend today, and then straight away led her onto three wrong trains in different directions to a place that I go to all the time.
I think it's a sign I need some me-time. Looking at my diary, I think I can book myself a time slot for that sometime in June...
Saturday, 23 March 2013
You Made my Day
Dear Tall Guy,
Thanks for catching me when I nearly wiped out on the tube, today. I did thank you at the time (albeit in a flustered, grinning 'ohmygoodnessthatwasembarrassing' kind of way), but I thought I'd say how much that little gesture meant to me, because it went against the usual big city 'People Don't Care' attitude. You probably saw me in front of you, reaching out but unable to grab at any of the holding bars because of this other guy who refused to budge up, and knew I was going to tumble backwards as soon as the train pulled off- and if you didn't see it coming, my imaginary hat goes off to you for your ninja-fast reaction.
You probably didn't think twice about such a small thing. I know I don't when I occasionally get to help out a random stranger. However, I've never myself experienced that sort of common decency from a member of the general public before.
Hell, the last time I fell over on a train, everyone around me in the carriage actually backed away from me in order to give me a clear shot at the floor. The worst incident was when I was at the top of the stairs on a double decker bus and the driver braked sharply, causing me to fall down the stairs in a heap: everyone made a point of looking away, and no-one asked if I was okay, let alone came to help me.
Over the years I've become quite disenfranchised with the general public, and I've been getting to the point where I've been considering giving up on being someone that looks out for others. But you reminded me today that not everybody is only out for themselves, and that there are still a few people left that give a damn, even if just a small damn. Even through it's not many, it's not nobody- and the world needs all the people who are willing to catch a falling stranger it can get.
I wouldn't say you've restored my faith in humanity- I still think we suck in general- but you've definitely restored my faith in the importance of looking out for your fellow man (or woman). So, thanks.
Yours sincerely,
Toppling Girl
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Afterword
Maybe I should be sad that something that should be seen as (and was, once up on a time) 'common decency' has been elevated to 'an act of kindless'- but it just made me happy that there is any common decency left in the first place. A sign of the times? Yes. A sign to give up? Not today.
~Fin~
Thanks for catching me when I nearly wiped out on the tube, today. I did thank you at the time (albeit in a flustered, grinning 'ohmygoodnessthatwasembarrassing' kind of way), but I thought I'd say how much that little gesture meant to me, because it went against the usual big city 'People Don't Care' attitude. You probably saw me in front of you, reaching out but unable to grab at any of the holding bars because of this other guy who refused to budge up, and knew I was going to tumble backwards as soon as the train pulled off- and if you didn't see it coming, my imaginary hat goes off to you for your ninja-fast reaction.
You probably didn't think twice about such a small thing. I know I don't when I occasionally get to help out a random stranger. However, I've never myself experienced that sort of common decency from a member of the general public before.
Hell, the last time I fell over on a train, everyone around me in the carriage actually backed away from me in order to give me a clear shot at the floor. The worst incident was when I was at the top of the stairs on a double decker bus and the driver braked sharply, causing me to fall down the stairs in a heap: everyone made a point of looking away, and no-one asked if I was okay, let alone came to help me.
Over the years I've become quite disenfranchised with the general public, and I've been getting to the point where I've been considering giving up on being someone that looks out for others. But you reminded me today that not everybody is only out for themselves, and that there are still a few people left that give a damn, even if just a small damn. Even through it's not many, it's not nobody- and the world needs all the people who are willing to catch a falling stranger it can get.
I wouldn't say you've restored my faith in humanity- I still think we suck in general- but you've definitely restored my faith in the importance of looking out for your fellow man (or woman). So, thanks.
Yours sincerely,
Toppling Girl
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Afterword
Maybe I should be sad that something that should be seen as (and was, once up on a time) 'common decency' has been elevated to 'an act of kindless'- but it just made me happy that there is any common decency left in the first place. A sign of the times? Yes. A sign to give up? Not today.
~Fin~
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