By Kara Jensen-Mackinnon
I think there’s some unwritten rule known by everyone that has a stroke face, a paedophile grin, a short leg, sweats profusely, wet clothes, lazy stink eyes, a tube in their breathing hole, a Romanian background, a nervous twitch or a violent stutter, a blood soaked shirt, a loose skeleton, is a neo nazi, has a tattoo on their face, that the Tube is simply the best way to get anywhere. I’m not sure what it is, maybe there’s a plaque somewhere nailed to some inconsequential wall with a list of these criteria, but this is what I have noticed.
I’ve also noticed that there seem to be no rules in place with the amount of time you can stare at someone directly in the eyes without people thinking you’re a sociopath. On the train to Liverpool Street station there was some man with his jaw hanging off his skull, that looked at me without looking away for about 7 minutes, I’m not even positive he blinked his eyes in that time. Obviously, I immediately jump to the conclusion that he was trying to calculate the time it would take to skin me once we were off the train and in a non descript alley way. Unfortunately this didn’t bother me as much as it should have.
And another thing, there are also no apparent rules with how loudly you can breath on someone, or what percentage of your body can be in complete contact with someone else. These rules don’t change even when the underground reaches the sweltering temperatures that are enough to melt your eyeballs right out of their sockets five times over. The London underground, is somewhat of a moral wasteland. Perhaps that’s where we’ll all be living after Korea (the country that noone cares about) blows us all to smithereens. We’ll all have to drag our sorry skeletons down those infinite escalators and elect some balding sheik with no feet to be our messiah. I can’t say that I’m particularly excited about that day, but at least I’ll have a valid Oyster card.