By this point I sigh and wait for it to cool down like a patient lover.
But not this time.
This time he crossed the line.
I was creating a Sim.
A SIM, DAMN IT. I had spent a good half hour or so messing around with the shape and the clothes - I had freaking graduated to giving it a personality, was just about to click save aaaaaaaand - 'SCREW YOU' - goes the screen.
You cannot imagine the trauma. One minute I was staring lovingly at my Sim-self and the next I was looking at a monochrome equivalent of The Scream. Never mind if this has you completely at a loss as to how it ties in with the title - it doesn't. I just felt the need to share my trauma.
Now. To the main body of this excursion into my myriad rants.
Travelling on the underground is not always the most pleasant of experiences. This is news to no one. However, over time you get over your absolute terror at the swathes of people deigning to conform your body to their elbow/bag/pregnancy and begin to take note that there are some serious assholes that you must share this public service with.
Recently I took note of one particular type - the people who sit down despite the fact they have only one stop to reach their destination. Apparently they could not maintain a centre of gravity and prevent their backside from dragging them down to the floor under the sheer weight of it in the time it takes to get from Warren Street to Goodge Street (2 minutes). So, hey, ignoring the people carrying most of their house on their shoulders, they proceed to settle their self-indulgent behinds on the most inconvenient seats available. For those of you who do not understand a London tube carriage layout let me paint a mental picture.
You have double doors separating each seating group in the middle of the carriage. Between the doors are 4-6 parallel seats. One person leads an entourage of sweaty business personae into the carriage and sits down in seat 4.Fair enough.
But then comes person 2 and they decide to sit in seat number 1, effectively forcing anyone else who wants to sit down behind them to hurdle over their inconsiderate backside to get to the next available seat - by which time some spry prig carrying nothing but a minipurse or their plans for dinner beat exhausted person 3 to the seats. Person 3 (and possibly the rest of the remorsefully sober conga line) are left to hang on for dear life for a respectable number of stops. Spry prig meanwhile, manages to plan their selfish bastard exit between Bermondsey and Canary Wharf. Before even reaching Canary Wharf, spry prig has gotten up halfway through the Canada Water exit, forcing the exhausted persons to make way for their highness, and has managed to piss off most of the carriage by insisting on parting the Red Sea to make way for their exit.
My most recent experience of this was with a disgustingly self-important American woman who all but announced to the carriage that someone died and made her Queen and 'would you all get out of the way, she can't miss her stop' - never mind there were five freaking people infront of
her who also needed to get off at the same stop and that they had had the presence of mind not to sit the fuck down when the trip was barely 4 minutes in total.
Just, just - HUFF! Get up you bastards! I just did a 6 hour shift at the hospital with no breakfast or lunch, I have a three-leg, hour-long journey, I'm carrying most of my revision material on my shoulder and I STILL HAVE TO GO SHOP FOR FOOD WHICH, FYI, I HAVE TO THEN COOK! MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE!!