Rude tube

One of the biggest problems about living in London is using the Underground. Overcrowded, smelly and filled with angry London commuters.

The most irritating problem, as I see it, is the lack of basics manners. The English are considered to be an overly polite nation, but as soon as they get on the London tube network, rudeness is dispensed like a new choir boy at a Catholic school.

I was recently on the Central Line, on my way home from work, when a heavily pregnant women, pushed a stroller with a baby onto the carriage I was on. As it was a rush hour, there weren’t any seats available, but everybody who noticed her getting onto the carriage quickly looked down at their books, newspapers or backpacks that they were previously placing batteries into.

I don’t claim to be a knight in shining armour, although I have previously seen horses and have been fascinated by swords since I was a young boy.

I stood up and offered my seat to the damsel in distress, as I was manly enough to stand for the three stops to my station exit. She was clearly thankful for my politeness and I could see the relief on her face as she was able to take all her weight off her feet.

Soon after this, our train was held on a red signal just before entering the next platform. Our tube driver announced that there was a faulty train further along our line and it would be quite some time before we’d be on the move again. There was a collective sigh of irritation amongst the passengers at the lack of London Underground’s efficiency, as I nudged my way back to my seat again.

The pregnant lady, who was occupying my newly relinquished seat, was busy giving a bottle of milk to her baby as I approached. As I came to a standstill next the push-chair facing her she looked up and smiled, recognising me as the gentleman who brought some relief to her tired feet. I gave her a polite smile back and asked, “Do you need help standing or can you do it by yourself?” Always the gentleman.

She seemed a bit confused by the question, but hesitantly replied “I can stand fine by myself, thank you. Why do you ask?”

Oh dear. It seems like she hadn’t heard what the driver had just announced. She was probably distracted by her child or some other woman problem.

I calmly explained to her, “The driver announced that we’ll be stuck here for a while, which I obviously didn’t know was going to happen when I offered my seat to you. So can I have my seat back now please?”

The look on her face appeared confused even though I had explained the situation quite clearly. She stuttered, “But... but I’m pregnant.”

“Yes, I know. That’s why I offered you my seat, but pregnant or not the initial seat contract we entered into a few minutes ago has changed.” I calmly noted for a small womanly brain.

Fatty still seemed confused by the carefully explained situation, before defiantly simply saying “No” to me.

How rude! This is typical of the average London commuter. I was nothing but a gentleman during this malarkey and this fat slut has the gall to say “No” to the one gentleman who, if given a chance would have come on her tits or in her arse instead of knocking her up again.

I had to threaten to hit her baby, before she relinquished MY seat! Let’s face it. Some people are just rude.