A Dangerous Commute

I can’t breathe.

I try to fill my lungs with the stuffy, putrid air. It is hot. I can feel my shirt starting to stick to my body as I begin to faintly perspire.

I am surrounded by people dressed in black, most of whom are larger than me so that all I can see are shoulders, backs and a few grim faces of the unfortunate shorter few. The floor below me lurches violently; I lose my balance but do not fall. The bodies in black are pressed up against me so tightly they are propping me up.

Over the next ten minutes the floor continues to jolt to and fro. The bodies in black begin to slowly disperse and I widen my stance so as to prevent tipping over onto the person next to me.

I have one hand clasped tightly on the bar above me, the other holding my copy of The Economist – books are too heavy for this one hand-hold, and The Financial Times too big. Headphones in, music softly playing, I keep my head down in the text, trying to pretend I am elsewhere, anywhere but on the Tube on my way home from work.

Five stops to go and I see movement out of the corner of my eye. A woman sitting down is folding up a popular British tabloid newspaper – this indicates an approximate 80% chance she is getting off at the next stop; the other 20% of course being she is simply done with the paper.

Her movement was subtle, but I see another standing passenger looking in her direction – she must have also noticed! My shoulder is aching from my heavy laptop bag and I am dying for a seat. I quickly angle my body in front of the other standing passenger so as to block her attempt to go for the seat should it become available.

The train stops. I wait…success! The sitting woman with the folded newspaper is getting up from her seat! I lean out of her way “accidently” blocking the pathway to the seat from the other standing passengers. As soon as she is out I make a dash, plunk down and swing my laptop case with a thud to the floor. I sigh…another day..another commute.