11 Things I Want To Tell Fellow Commuters

The tube is not a nice place. Hot, sweaty and gross. It's not pretty either- red-cheeked bankers sit next to bored media types sit next to bright-clothing-clad tourists, who occasionally sit next too (prepare to wince in horror at the thought) school children. Here are the 11 things I wish I could scream to the 200 other people encased in a tin can travelling under central London with twice a day.


Your BO is disgusting. Have a shower.


I really really don’t care about the awesome party you had last night or who you shagged. Shut up. Let the rest of us enjoy the destining sound of the tube engine and other people’s coughing, not your shrieks of ‘please like me strangers’.


I really, really, really don’t want to listen to your music. If I did, I would ask to share an ear-wax clogged AirPod, not ask you to turn it up so loud I can actually hear the shrill drum and bass through my own 80s hits playlist on Spotify, in my own headphones.


You’re not going to maintain the patriarchy by man-spreading and showing the rest of the carriage your small bulge through your too-tight skinny jeans. Please stop invading my allocated seat space and sit with your legs together. I will just push back. And get another pair of trousers you Love Island wannabe.


You see that woman there? That’s not a stolen mixing bowl shoved under her top. She’s pregnant. She is probably having a bit of a harder time on this sweaty sardine can than you. Please, give her your seat. See the old man there, with the walking stick? Same deal. Be a decent human being.


Do not be a human turd in the toilet bowl and block the carriage for the rest of us. We want to move down, spread our wings (or at least regain the feeling in our arms from being pressed against one another for so long) and passive-aggressively stare at the people sitting down, with jealousy and annoyance that they got a seat first and we didn’t.


I get it. You love your boyfriend and he loves you. You’re in love. You’re very happy together. Probably been on a nice little date night together. But, we (and I speak collectively for the carriage here) don’t want to watch your tongues do the tango in a cramped in a tube carriage. PDA? No way. Just imagine you’re back at home, in an intimate setting, tucking into your Date Night’s tonsils with about 26 strangers standing around watching you. Not a good vibe? That’s what I thought.


I can see in the reflection in the window behind you you’re looking at half naked pictures of women, you naughty boy.


I don’t know whether it’s because you dislike your boss, or you're unhappy with where your career has taken you, or you feel like you’re empty inside in a dead-end job. Maybe it’s because you’re stuck in a tiny metal train 10,000 leagues under central London, which has the average temperature of a cramped nightclub at 2am. I don’t want to be here as much as you, but huffing and puffing about it isn’t going to magically transport you to the back of an UberLuxe heading to your local.


If I’m queueing for the train it is only because I want to get on the train. No other reason. I don’t pay £2.20 to go into a tiled cave and wait in a line of sweaty suit-wearing, not-morning people. Therefore, in essence, I definitely would prefer it if you DIDN'T push in front of me. I got there before you. Be a good Londoner and embrace the queue.


I don’t know what your story is. You could be a tourist, here to soak up the history and atmosphere of this great city. You could be a commuter, working hard to support their family. Or, you could be a bell-end who hasn’t got their appropriate travel card ready to go at the barrier. If you delay it for one person behind you, that delays it for two people behind them and the list goes on and on and on until you’ve ruined everyone’s day. It’s physics.

C x

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© 2019 Ciara Loane

Created by Ciara Loane.

London-based writer and stylist.

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