Trainspotting

Words by Samantha Dix-Hill, crtwork by Hyeon-seong Ryu

Exactly one year ago I encouraged you all to write down your goals for the New Year. After all, why should I be the only one who’s bullied into making commitments I’ll barely keep past day three of 2010? I’m getting smarter and this year my resolution is to drink more than ever before.

Just kidding.

I’ll start by sharing just two of my goals for this year. The first is to regain control of my temper and the second is to take better care of the environment. Happily these two coincide quite nicely with each other. Allow me to explain. The only time I ever really lose my temper is when I’m driving. I’m not talking that mild little attack of fist waving and foul language; I’m talking black spots in front of my eyes, hyperventilating and wishing the worst kind of evil suffering on mankind. Apparently things have reached such a low that my son is considering alternative means of transport.

Realizing that I’m never going to be able to teach 48 million people to drive like law-abiding Germans, I’ve decided to throw in the towel and use the subway. And this is where part two of my plan kicks in because now, not only will I be reducing the size of my carbon footprint, but at the same time I will be reducing the size of my temper.

I tentatively entered my new underground world with pre-conceived ideas of nocturnal creatures, crime and chaos. Where I come from there is no underground system and everybody drives a car. In fact I’ve always been a bit of a snob when it comes to public transport.  Imagine my surprise when I found a whole new, clean, well-organized and English-friendly subterranean world. And it’s relaxing. I no longer have to worry about cars coming out of nowhere, traffic lights being ignored and indicators that are never used. I can sit comfortably in the train and watch the world go by. Mostly I watch people sleeping and that’s just fine by me.

Not wanting to feel too lulled into my new sense of peace and well-being I decided to give it a go during rush hour and yes, things were a little different. I managed to find myself a seat snuggly squashed between two sleepy commuters and when I happened to look up I noticed a makecrotch at eye level an inch away. Under normal circumstances this wouldn’t bother me at all, but when I don’t know the owner of the crotch I feel that a more formal greeting is generally called for. So I raised my eyes, smiled, and gave a cheery “good morning”. I was immediately rewarded with a lovely grin and the standard, ‘Ah, where you from?”

“Africa.” I replied truthfully.

And then he let out such a roar of laughter that he had to grab onto the handrail in order to stop himself from careening off into the next passenger.

“No, really, I am.” I said, a little indignant.

More laughter and now tears started rolling down his cheeks. I’ve never been funnier it seems, and without even trying very hard.

I gave up.

He spent the next two stops wiping his eyes and chuckling to himself.

The only real danger one might face on the subway is that one gets lulled into such a relaxed state that the mind tends to wander and the next thing you’ve missed the boat  by at least two stations. I find myself daydreaming about all sorts of wonderfully weird things and sometimes I’ve missed my stop altogether only to find myself sailing off towards the great unknown and it’s quite a panic having to switch around and head back in the right direction again. I was explaining the whole subway saga to my dad on the phone the other day. Funnily enough he’s also African and this whole train thing is fairly exciting for him too. I was telling him how I daydream so much that I’m always in danger of missing my stop.

“Sammy” he said, “take some advice from your old man; keep dreaming and don’t worry about the stops.”

I think I might just do that.

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