People you share your commute with

This, this this!

Been trying to get much better at converting these repeat encounters into exchanges of names and subsequently contact details since moving up to Leeds.

I carry tissues but sometimes I just have to sniff as well or my nose would be red raw from all the tissue action by the end of each day. I got allergies and thereā€™s not a huge amount I can do about it :confused:

Youā€™re reminded me of a really mortifying moment a few years ago. Iā€™d not got a tissue on me and Iā€™d got a bit of a sniff on. And a woman in the seat across the aisle said ā€œexcuse meā€ and offered me a tissue! Never again will I go tissueless on the train, UP, never again.

Iā€™ve considered handing them out to the gak queen who gets on at the station after me and sniffs and snorts the whole way.

I hear you, I suffer from chronic sinusitis and Iā€™m limited as to what drugs I can take for it because of breastfeeding, so I have a stuffy nose, which out of nowhere can miraculously unblock and start running like a stream (a joyous, joyous stream)

I put Elizabeth Arden 8 hour cream on the end of my nose and use balsam tissues.

(and the people Iā€™m talking about donā€™t even attempt to put a tissue near their nose once in a 40 minute train journey.)

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(Excuse my naivety, but) is she sniffing and snorting because sheā€™s just done a load of coke prior to travelling to work? Or is she sniffing and snorting because sheā€™s knackered up her nose from all the drugs?

Itā€™s a whole world I know very little of.

Might be a cultural thing too. Blow your nose into a tissue in public in Japan, for example, and youā€™ll be regarded as disgusting.

On my old commute there was a bloke who was an exact replica of Neil Morrisey. The poor guy always looked really self-conscious - like he just knew that half the train was looking at him thinking ā€œWow, that guy doesnā€™t half look like Neil Morrisey!ā€.

Swear an evening standard vendor is following me - used to hawk papers outside London Bridge and then made the move to Waterloo as soon as I started using that station instead.

Heā€™s got Big silly hair and is really enthusiastic

I use balsam tissues as necessity but find it tends to block my pores and cause full-on teenager spots around my nose after a period of heavy nose-blowing. Which is currently exactly what has happened :expressionless:

clones of the same white, balding, aggressive businessman.

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ITS KURNS STUPID

This guy looks like the sort to draw a mark on the train station platform in chalk:

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they ALL look like massive cunts.

Brompton Wanker. We both prefer the same seat (solo seat with table) and Iā€™m always there before him. He spends the whole journey opposite in the lesser of the solo seats (no table, right against the loo) glaring at me, when heā€™s not noisily eating his homemade granola or whatever shite it is.

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This guy has a friendly enough face

But heā€™d turn on you in an instant.

Cambridge eh? What a bunch of wankers.

EDIT: additional: I often share the cycling part of my commute with a Brompton Wanker. Heā€™s ridiculously quick on that thing, mind, and has the biggest shins Iā€™ve ever seen. Occasionally Iā€™ll try to race him down Regent Street. I havenā€™t told him weā€™re racing, but weā€™re racing.

On my cycle to my old workplace, Iā€™d pass an old man at a bus stop who would wave to some people as they went past. The stop was outside an OAPs home, so I assumed he was part of that place. After a few weeks of wave-envy I decided enough was enough and started giving him a little wave, and sure enough, I started getting reciprocal waves back. It was a great way to start my day, really made me.feel like part of the community.

Some days heā€™d even give a little flourish or a little dance with his wave making me smile, though I couldnā€™t return anything similar as Iā€™d be on my bike. Heā€™d sometimes say something too, so Iā€™d shout back ā€œMorning!ā€ keeping our fleeting friendship alive and building this bond.

Then one morning I was cycling past a bit slower than normal (knackered), Iā€™d given him a big wave in advance and as usual I got the friendly smile and the wave back. Only this time I heard what the guy was saying.

ā€œFuck off, you never listen to me anyway!ā€.

Shocked I pulled over and shouted back in an exasperated British way ā€œwell, well, well I heard that!ā€.

I was outraged all the rest of the way to work and told workmates about the discovery that Iā€™d been being sassed on a daily basis. They just said ā€œwell were you fucking listening to him?ā€ and it was at that moment I realised that it was I who was the bad guy in the story.

I realised that if I was a decent person that I should stop en route and chat with him every morning, and hear his stories. That was what he really wanted and thatā€™s what a decent person would do.

The problem was that I was often late for work and was worried heā€™d turn out to be a racist, so instead I found a new route to go to work and just felt bad about it for ages.

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This guy wanā€™t annoying just an oddity. I could never get a full on pic but he would sit down, pull out a laptop, 360 controller and massive bose headphones and play COD or whatever.

One time he came with a bonus dawg:

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