Society

There's an unspoken rule on the train. "Do unto others as you would have done unto you". Except in modern day metropolises that mantra has been flipped to "don't do anything unto anyone as you would prefer everyone to not do to you." Don't talk loudly on the phone, don't produce any noticeable odours, take all your DNA with you upon disembarking, don't eat anything, don't take up extra seats, don't stand too close, don't leave too much space, don't block the doors, don't distract others from their iPads. This rule is followed by about 98% of people, the other two percent tend to moan loudly about imaginary religious friends; swear at their friends or relatives on the phone; lean on your shoulder to sleep; and defecate with reckless abandon on the seats reserved for the elderly or disabled.

I apologise once again that it seems so much of what I write lately has to do with trains. I currently spend about 10% of my life on them. It's not all bad, I've been reading many books and keeping up to date with many 20-30 minute long television shows.
I sometimes think about what life was like before portable audio. When steam trains were crammed with passengers, did they talk to each other? Strike up conversations and make each others acquaintanceship to pass the time. Or did they do crosswords with graphite pencils and all stare out the window?

This morning my commute to work stretched out to over two hours due to a necessary detour to drop Vanessa off at work before I drove back towards the city. I chose to skip breakfast. Part way through the transit a tiny wait for the next train presented an opportunity to finally feed myself with something from the prevalent chain of stores called "Pie Face". I doubt I was the only person standing on the carriage who hadn't eaten breakfast, but I was the only one who was eating a bacon and egg pie from a brown paper bag that crinkled maddeningly loud every time I changed my grip.

The moment I opened that meal I felt the sideways glances of everyone on the train locked on me. No one said anything, because starting conversations with other commuters violates that primary rule. I could read their thoughts, however. Most were angry, feeling there was no explanation for me to introduce the delicious aroma into the close-packed crowd. A small Japanese school girl looked up from a pole she leant against and said "motherfucker, you serious?" with her eyes. It was, to be honest, a lot of pressure for 8am and I promptly spilled most of the pie down my freshly ironed shirt and onto the floor. "Justice," they all thought in sync.

The remainder of my breakfast tasted delicious. When I was finished I bent over a scooped the spilt egg from the floor and my shoe into a napkin which then carried for an hour until I saw a bin again. I think this restored some credibility.