Tube Rage

London is big. Very big. And getting round it can cost you money, time - and possibly your sanity.

It's not the transport itself. I like them many buses. I like those 'Boris Bikes'.  I love the Docklands Light Rail where you can sit at the front and pretend to be driving a super-speed monorail. 

What I don't like is that commuters can sometimes flick a switch in their minds and turn from perfectly pleasant people into angry monsters that will persecute you for the smallest of transgressions.

Transfer that 300 ft below the ground to the Underground and you get the phenomena I most fear  - Tube Rage.

I’d just finished a hard days work and was dragging myself to a meeting on the other side of London on the central line. The only way to cope is to shut my brain off, and daydream. As I disengaged, my eyes began to wander. Thoughtlessly, they pointed over the shoulder of the man in front of me, and focussed on the free paper he was reading.

Oh look, the economy is buggered again. oh look, that celebrity lesbian couple are back together. Ooh Look, the man has turned round and is glaring at me.

Fear and anger gnarled his face. Daggers of indignation flew from his eyes. This is the first symptom of Tube-Rage - a delusional paranoia that everyone else is deliberately trying to make your journey ever so slightly less comfortable. Small impoliteness becomes huge insult.

I mean, ok, what I was doing was a bit rude. But he was over-reacting. I was only reading his paper, for crying out loud, I wasn’t stopping him from reading it - its not like I was licking it or something.

It’s a free paper, not a top secret government document. He didn’t even pay for it. I SHOULD be allowed to read it. Who the HELL DOES HE THINK HE IS!

Tube Rage, you see, is highly infectious. And they’ve not invented the mind condom to stop it.

I'm not proud of this, but I began to plot my terrible revenge. Slowly, I moved myself in front of him, so only the paper separated us.

Then, as ostentatiously as possible, I started to read the front cover.

How d’ya like that, sunshine?

My eyes scanned every word slowly, my anger burning through his paper and piercing his soul.

He looked up, speechless. His hands trembled, his legs shook. But not with fear. He was so full of Tube Rage, he was beginning to physically transform.

Thick black hairs sprouted through his pores. His teeth sharpened into fangs, his hands into claws.

Screams filled the carriage. He’d grown to superhuman size, his bulging muscles tearing through his suit (which is perhaps a blessing as its old and badly fitted anyway).

Before me stood a monster, engulfed by tube rage. His razor sharp talons tore the paper to confetti in front of my eyes.

“NOW NONE OF YOU WILL READ IT! RAAAAARGH” he bellowed

It struck me that paper guy and I may not be the only sufferers on this train. Anyone can carry the virus. It only takes a misplaced look, a clumsy nudge or an un-caught sneeze to set carnage in motion.

I had to get out of there. Leaping off at the next stop, I legged it up the escalators and burst through the gates as fast as my oyster card would let me.

Fresh air filled my lungs. The rage evaporated like a vampire in the sun. I’m safe. For now.

Next week, I’m taking the bus.