That was a record, even for you
Dear TfL,
Very rarely while living in this hugely crowded city do I have the urge to just start screaming ‘FUCK!’ over again over again at the top of my lungs in a public place, but you’ve managed it again. Really, you’ve got a rare talent.
Somehow, the two hours it took me to get home today just seem to be getting to me a bit.
I was fine with the severe delays on the Hammersmith and City line, even though yesterday there had been severe delays on the Victoria line (Because nothing is as fun for me as standing at an awkward angle for ten minutes while being told that we’re being held on the platform and you think the guy sat in front of you is imagining what you look like without your clothes on). I was fine, standing out on the platform in the freezing cold for 20 minutes, waiting. I was even okay for the first two stops, until that guy stood behind me started grabbing my ass in as casual a way as he could manage.
And then, Tfl, we arrived at King’s Cross. Now usually this is a clusterfuck of epic proportions anyway, but today, oh, today was special. Today, we got routed out of the station back up to the main entrance, and had to go around for some reason that, as per the usual, was not told to us. Then, bouncing off each other like thousands of balls trying to fit through a space that only allows five balls through at a time, I shuffled towards the barriers in an attempt to have my ass grabbed on the Victoria line.
However, it was at this point that the lights started flashing and the lovely automated voice came on the speaker telling everyone to leave the station immediately due to a state of emergency. So, the thousands of balls turned around and tried to quickly fit through an opening that let out 20 balls at a time instead of five. I have full confidence that if there really was an emergency, I’d be blown to bits in the time that it took me to traverse the approximately 100 feet to get out of the station.
From there, Tfl, it was a hop, skip and a jump home – if you count the four buses I couldn’t get on, because everyone who usually takes the Tube was trying to take a bus, and then the one I had to claw my way on to that was actually going to the right place, the 30 minutes bus ride, fighting my way through the Arsenal supporters because I needed to get to the other side of Finsbury Park station and there was a match on, and then standing in the longest queue I have ever seen in the last 11 months for the W7 as a hop, skip and a jump.
I am going to go and drink my gin and tonic, which is at least half gin, now, because if I don’t I might just walk straight up to you in the less than 12 hours I have before I have to use your insane services again and set you on fire.
Sincere Regards,
B
Very rarely while living in this hugely crowded city do I have the urge to just start screaming ‘FUCK!’ over again over again at the top of my lungs in a public place, but you’ve managed it again. Really, you’ve got a rare talent.
Somehow, the two hours it took me to get home today just seem to be getting to me a bit.
I was fine with the severe delays on the Hammersmith and City line, even though yesterday there had been severe delays on the Victoria line (Because nothing is as fun for me as standing at an awkward angle for ten minutes while being told that we’re being held on the platform and you think the guy sat in front of you is imagining what you look like without your clothes on). I was fine, standing out on the platform in the freezing cold for 20 minutes, waiting. I was even okay for the first two stops, until that guy stood behind me started grabbing my ass in as casual a way as he could manage.
And then, Tfl, we arrived at King’s Cross. Now usually this is a clusterfuck of epic proportions anyway, but today, oh, today was special. Today, we got routed out of the station back up to the main entrance, and had to go around for some reason that, as per the usual, was not told to us. Then, bouncing off each other like thousands of balls trying to fit through a space that only allows five balls through at a time, I shuffled towards the barriers in an attempt to have my ass grabbed on the Victoria line.
However, it was at this point that the lights started flashing and the lovely automated voice came on the speaker telling everyone to leave the station immediately due to a state of emergency. So, the thousands of balls turned around and tried to quickly fit through an opening that let out 20 balls at a time instead of five. I have full confidence that if there really was an emergency, I’d be blown to bits in the time that it took me to traverse the approximately 100 feet to get out of the station.
From there, Tfl, it was a hop, skip and a jump home – if you count the four buses I couldn’t get on, because everyone who usually takes the Tube was trying to take a bus, and then the one I had to claw my way on to that was actually going to the right place, the 30 minutes bus ride, fighting my way through the Arsenal supporters because I needed to get to the other side of Finsbury Park station and there was a match on, and then standing in the longest queue I have ever seen in the last 11 months for the W7 as a hop, skip and a jump.
I am going to go and drink my gin and tonic, which is at least half gin, now, because if I don’t I might just walk straight up to you in the less than 12 hours I have before I have to use your insane services again and set you on fire.
Sincere Regards,
B
Labels: london
posted by Auglaise at 7:57 PM
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