Tube-rculosis

1, 2, 4 trains pass. Each set of lights at the end of the tunnel offers hope. That’s 4 sets of hopes dashed. Finally you squeeze on. You feel sorry for the people left stranded on the platform, but you’ve served your time. Crushed against a curved door. No sounds except the squealing of the train. Frequently a stop in-between stations. Darkness. Sounds of the operating theatre. No room to move. Sweating. It’s not even 20 degress outside.

First stop. Mass exodus. Human gridlock. Mass influx. Now stuck in the middle of the carriage with nothing to hold on to but the thought that you can change lines at the next stop. Instead you sway with the other people suffering the same plight. Like a concert, except it’s not entertaining. Somehow people manage to find room to read a newspaper when others can barely heave a sigh. Next stop you need to change lines. You push your way through. Fighting for the freedom of being outside the carriage and its relative fresh air. Still hundreds of meters underground. Still miles from your destination.

The next train is on the other side of the station. This is the rat race. Your destination is the most important. Thousands of people meet in the centre of the station, all coming from and going off in different directions. In the middle you bump into people rudely, as if it’s part of life. Sometimes people complain. They’re obviously new to this.

The next platform is always covered with people. Despite this, you’ll get on. The same amount of people are exiting the trains. Replacing one block of outgoing passengers with another is the challenge though. The incomers are itching to get on and claim a prized seat, the people on the train are itching to get off to go through the same process on another platform.

We’re all on. Angry people who just missed a seat now stare angrily at their nemesis. They’ll give them another stare when they leave their seat or when they themselves leave the train. The seated will read their papers as if everyone got a seat. For the next twenty minutes they are in business class. Gradually the numbers thin and you can breathe a sigh of relief; you’re about to reach your destination, a rainy summers day, car traffic, drunks, dealers and 9 hours behind a computer screen working for a cause you don’t believe in.