Fellas

Subject A. Mature male. Aviator-like frame spectacles. Always short-sleeve shirt. Rain or sun. Funny ties. Thermal coffee jug and a tangerine. Sitting on the same table seat, even before it is announced that THAT train goes to our destination. Laptop on. Mouse cable strategically hanging on the screen. Carries a bunch of past issues of Metro.

Subject B. Chunkier male. Younger than B. Casual attire. Apple geek, geared with iPhone and iPad. Always watching a show. Knows subject A. Small talk.

Subject C. Woman. Mid 30. Formal wear. Tends to arrive almost at departure time, so never gets to choose a seat. Brushes her hair with a hairbrush, no matter who's sitting by her side. It's alright.

Subject D. Early 40 I reckon. McD breakfast guy. Full on every morning. I like his headphones. The cord looks like a rasta shoelace. Semiformal wear but quite hipster-ish on Casual Friday. No social interaction with fellow passengers.

Subject E. Male. Post mid-30s. Always wearing impecable suit. Carefully ironed shirts. Always wearing waistcoat. Nice formal coat. Carefully finished with stripped liner. Carries a knackered leather suitcase. Falls asleep like a baby as soon as he finishes his Muller yogurt. Knows Subject A, but probably because of the commuting.

Subject F. Proper english lady. I would say late 50s early 60s. Tiny glasses and granny-like shoes. Long wollen purple coat and 20s style hat. Tends to sit by my side as I normally seat quite next to the door. She hates me. I make her stand up before we have arrived at our destination. But it's not a surprise anymore. I'm on a rush to go out the first one or I don't make it to the bus. Not my fault.

Subject G. Late 30s male. Quiet, very quiet. Suited up. No social interaction. Sits down in a very straight position without resting his back on the seat. No book, no music, no paper. Also in a rush to be the first one to exit.

Subject H. Catering guy. Mid/late 50s. Nice chap. Quite enthusiastic announcing the treats of the day: 'Hot chocolate, coffee, tea, porridge, croissants, chocolate bars...'. Told me once off for pressing the lock of the doors. Even the guys from National Rail do it. 'No, that's illegal'. Never mind. No hard feelings. Haven't seen him in a couple of weeks.

Subject I. Would say late 20s. Stuck in heavy metal look. Long pony tail with plaid cap. Rolled up sleeves. Never coat. Chunky platform heavy-metal boots. Awfully long nails. He must probably plays guitar then. Carries a Nintendo DS.

And then random people.

Subject R (of revenge). Chinese girl. Probably mid 20s. I was peacefully sleeping by the window. Train was half full, so I considered putting my belongings one the seat next to mine. It's something that I never do, but due to the occupation I thought I wouldn't be a problem. Deep sleep and music own, found myself woken up with the noise of my cuttlery being drop on the floor. My banana hit my foot and my apple started to roll around the carpet. When I managed to open my eyes, I discovered this lady carelessly holding my lunch bag by a corner, putting it between the seats violently and placing her buttocks on top of my little bag of crisps stored in my bad. Said action, followed by my astonishment and the inevitable drop of my headphones, amplified the horrendous noise of crisps cracking painfully under the load, being reduced to crumbles.

Miliseconds of skepticism to which I could only react with a probably quite rude (but well deserved) 'Hey hey hey, STOP!!!'. Evil, avenging Banana surfaced from deep down inside of me. Full of anger. My needed precious little nap and my carefully calculated midday snack had just been spoiled. The fact that this occurred without a gentle interruption of my sleep with a polite 'excuse, would you mind...' Is what really infuriated me. What happened to the fellow commuter code of respect.

It is widely accepted to be rude on the tube, but not on a train. Atrocious!

I paid it back with an earlier-than-normal stand-up-and-head-to-the-door in the middle of HER sleep.

People, innit?

Lullaby

See, two years ago things were way different for me. Different place, different cities. I was always driving from A to B. I knew a lot about my origin or destination points but little about the trip. My only chance of exploring point B appeared everytime I had difficulties to park at my destination. It's in those occasions when you get to know a new road, a new shop, or even a new area if you get really lost. I was good with orientation, but was knowledge was pretty much road and motorway engineering. Trips were normally short. I had time to sing out loud on my car. My car it was everything.

I don't get the chance to sing now. I could, but the unwritten law of respect for fellow passengers is something that I strictly try to comply with. My shoes get abnormally worn out these days. I keep finding myself going shopping for shoes, as a need. Walking is my main task of the day. Necessity or pleasure.

Walk or sit down for long. Standing besides the doors of the carriage. A lot of empty time that now I need to cover with a productive solution. The solution was quite straightforward. Empty time = time to think. Time to observe. Time to evaluate. And eventhough I have just classified this time as empty, it is precious, and essential, and I really value to have it back with me a couple of hours during the day.

Empty time leads you to observation. I have always been quite nosy, just for pure curiosity. And it is sitting down observing on a train when you realise how equal we are all of us. London Underground specially, I think is one of the most democratic place of all. I am not sure if democratic is the correct word, but will leave it on the mean time. This tube is where at 6 in the morning, workers, commoners like me, hipsters, early-bird tourists and high-end bankers or managers of the City get canned on a crowded Victoria Line carriage.

You find yourself sitting down on those moquete seats that I absolute hate. We all hate them. But expensive crisp suits and grotty paint-splashed trackies sit side by side without making a conversation. They probably both read Metro. They both probably have an iPhone. One lives in Highbury and the other in Wood Green.

You get the same situation on trains. Me sitting down in front of two big-fishes from a high-end pharmaceutical or law firm, closing a multimillion deal while I tweet on my 20 pounds a month contract Blackberry.

But the part I love the most about suits is observing how the tenderly fall asleep with the gentle movement of the train. They close their eyes and their heads slowly fall down in an awkward position, that after waking up will give them neck pain for the rest of the day. Then they start to dribble. Like I do. I love it. Even the most scaring suited up big boss dribbles. Defenceless. Powerless for 20 minutes.

I observe it. I read my Metro and I look at then half smilling. They are like me. I open my yogurt.

So do them.

But that's another story.