I originally wrote this a little while ago, however it seems that the world is just not taking my sage advice to heart. This is very disappointing and, quite frankly, you should all be ashamed of yourselves. Don’t give me that ‘I’ve never seen this crap before in my life’ twaddle. It just doesn’t cut the mustard.
Let’s be frank. I shouldn’t even have to tell you this stuff. It should be self evident to anyone with a mental capacity greater than seeded mustard. But I care, swingers. There is love in my heart. I want us to all get along in an harmonious, acoustic guitar and organic tofu kind of way. To this aim I present these simple rules of train etiquette that, if followed, will elevate our collective consciousness and bring us a step closer to world peace. Feel the love:
1. Shut the fuck up.
I don’t care who you are or what language you’re speaking. If yours is the only voice you can hear in the carriage at 6:30am there is a reason why. Everybody else wants a little peace on the way to work, and you are a douche.
2. Keep your shit food to yourself.
Unless you’re on the Ghan or an XPT there is no dining car. Whatever car I am in is definitely not the dining car. I don’t want to have to smell your cheap, greasy peasant food, nor imagine how it’s transferring itself directly to your bulging, gelatinous thighs. Eat in the park, or a soup kitchen, or whatever it is polite plebs do.
3. Turn your Ipod down.
You have shit taste in music. I know this because I can hear it, as can everybody else in the carriage. If your eyeballs bulge in time with the crappy dance beat you’re listening to, then the good people of Blackheath can hear it too – and they think you’re a tard.
4. Your dirt magnet has no place on a commuter train.
Pick your times, ffs. What is worse than the fact you’re subjecting everybody else to the screaming and whining of your ill bred progeny is the fact that you are subjecting these foregone failures to abuse. Travel in off peak times when your poor kid doesn’t run the risk of being trampled to death, and I don’t feel like beating you with a house-brick wrapped in a copy of MX.
5. Bicycles are nature’s way of telling you how much you suck.
You don’t buy three tickets, therefore you don’t deserve that much space. Should other passengers choose to tolerate your presence the correct response is fawning gratitude, not smug self importance.
By the way, you look stupid.
6. Get up before I slap you down.
If you choose to sit in the aisle seat, that’s fine. You stand to let me pass you, and I don’t need to ask. You stand when I leave. If you expect me to clamber over you then you are either pig ignorant or a disgusting creep. Whichever it is you deserve to die of crotch fungus.
7. Personal hygiene – discover it, arsehat.
Here’s a tip. If you can afford a train ticket you can afford deodorant. Train travel can be an uncomfortable enough experience without having the air of one’s personal space befouled with the combined odour of Parmesan cheese, curry fart and sun ripened mullet. Get over your phobia of soap and consider the possibility that your cheap-arse clothes probably won’t magically disappear if washed more than once a month. With washing powder. Dick.
And finally, 8. Consider your reading material.
OK. This is entirely for your benefit, as I couldn’t really give a rodent’s cloaca what you read. Just be aware that if you are reading Harry Potter, Twilight or a bible (complete with highlighted passages and stupid little tags to mark the important bits you need to read over and over), people are watching you. They are watching you move your lips as you read and are eternally thankful they are not like you, or have raised children who are like you. You are our entertainment, and exist only to imbue us with a smug sense of schadenfreude which is only heightened by the irony that you don’t know what that word means, do you?
There. I hope that helps. I know I feel better.