Chapter Eighteen: The Battle For The 17:30

The Battle For The 17.30 

In other words, not leaving enough time and thus power walking (badly) through London whilst trying not to scream "I HAVE A DEAD GRANDMOTHER THAT MOVES FASTER THAN YOU" at every human being that decides to walk in front of me. 
I don't scream that because I am a short girl who's internal monologue is far more ballsy than she is. 
One might say 'well if you left the office on time then you wouldn't have a problem making your train home' and one would be correct HOW-FUCKING-EVER as any human that has ever worked in a sodding office will know...easier bloody said than done! 
So we've left the office, 10 minutes late, 'What's the big deal?' I hear you cry! The big deal is that I have 20minutes to do a 20minute journey...hang the fuck on...however you have the get to the buggering train with enough time to walk far enough up it to get on a carriage with a sodding seat left! Which by this point is the first carriage which is give or take about eleventy billion miles away! 
So I reach said first carriage, lungs vaguely intact and find a seat, hurrah! Less hurrah is the fact that I'm sweating like the devil in Sunday Mass and I have to do all I can not to collapse in a heap on the remaining chairs and demand someone open a mother flipping window! 

When did trains stop having windows?! I missed that ruddy memo. 

Good grief is hot in here, I'm at the point when I internally apologise to the train company for repeatedly tweeting them and demanding they put the heating on because I had three layers on and still seemed to be acquiring frostbite. I know want to tweet them to let them know that if they don't crank up that Air Con I'm going to take my heels off and create a window of my own. And good day to you sir. 
But of course I don't because as afore mentioned, I am small and I'm not sure that is a revolution I could truly commit to...nor the damages I could afford to pay. 
So thus I am sat on a train; sweaty, uncomfortable and tired but none the less on my way home. So the bastarding battle for the 17.30 has been won, until tomorrow when the whole fucking debacle starts again. 


S.P.

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