The escalator is not going to eat you.
People go up the left side of the escalator to move faster. So why stop when you get to the top? Keep moving - the escalator is not going to bite.
Sunday 4 November 2007
Saturday 13 October 2007
Commuter Rules. 1. (...to be continued)
For god's sake stick to the left.
Okay, I have been known to be guilty of flitting up the wrong set of stairs, and indeed twisting my ankle coming down an escalator that was heading upwards. But that's by the by. If everyone stuck to the right side of the stairs, walkways and escalators, life on the underground would be vast improved. (The incident with the twisted ankle, was however my own fault and I was drunk).
If you are any of the following then stay to the far left:
Okay, I have been known to be guilty of flitting up the wrong set of stairs, and indeed twisting my ankle coming down an escalator that was heading upwards. But that's by the by. If everyone stuck to the right side of the stairs, walkways and escalators, life on the underground would be vast improved. (The incident with the twisted ankle, was however my own fault and I was drunk).
If you are any of the following then stay to the far left:
- Feeling tired/ill/slow
- not in a general rush
- carrying heavy bags/items
- with children
- reading the Metro
Reading the Metro en route through the Underground is particularly annoying. Try this at home; grab the nearest newspaper or magazine to hand. Now find some stairs. Try to read this whilst heading down or indeed up said stairs. Take note of how fast you can move, how much you have actually read, how much you have enjoyed reading, and how much attention to your surroundings you feel you would be capable of providing.
If all the people listed above stayed to the far left, then theoretically there should be a path free for those that want to run up/down stairs and generally move quicker.
It's an unrealistic request I know. But as Christmas is heading closer, I thought I might just ask.
Generosity to the Homeless
The other night I didn't make my usual slog through the rush hour. I attended a works do.
I recently completed reading the most excellent book, Stuart a Life Backwards by Alexander Masters. A compelling read, albeit quite sad and poignant. It follows the life of a homeless man called Stuart, explaining to fair extent how he ended up on the street, what life on the street was like and how homeless people can be driven to drugs. It's a fantastic account of the relationship between Alexander and Stuart and if you've not read it yet, I'd advise to do so.
After the works do, despite the free bar I left at quite a reasonable hour - 9.30pm. Knowing that there weren't any trains to rush for and how beautiful the city looked in the dark, I decided to take the scenic and relaxed route through my usually hectic journey home.
Connected to my ipod I walked across the river via footbridge. My favourite bridge. Whenever I miss London it is the image seen from this bridge that is always at the forefront of my mind. That view is 'my London'.
At my slow pace I stopped, lit a cigarette and looked over at the view from the bridge. Beautiful. The solemn, stressed, fast paced walkers I normally shared my journey home with had been exchanged for relaxed laughing groups of people; people analysing a show from the RNT and the mildly drunk and mostly happy.
With a warm alcohol feeling and the lack of stress in the air I smiled at people I walked past on the bridge. At the end of the bridge was a homeless girl. A pretty thing, about the same age as myself, was sat cross-legged crying her eyes out.
Rummaging through my handbag I found a collection of £2 coins. I eagerly gave her one, where she looked up bleary eyed to say thanks. As I exited the bridge down the stairs I look back to see her still sobbing uncontrollably into the sleeves of her mustard coloured jumper.
Continuing my walk under a bridge to Waterloo I came across a cacophony of the more rowdy homeless types. The types that are sat drinking from their cans of cider, slurring contentedly and commenting at those that pass them. Having the clutch of £2 coins in my hand I continued to give them out as I passed. This was met with chirpy "Thanks" and "Have a good journey".
Despite probably having bought crack by the third party, and the fact that I had not done anything truly helpful for them, I had however felt generous to the homeless that evening.
I recently completed reading the most excellent book, Stuart a Life Backwards by Alexander Masters. A compelling read, albeit quite sad and poignant. It follows the life of a homeless man called Stuart, explaining to fair extent how he ended up on the street, what life on the street was like and how homeless people can be driven to drugs. It's a fantastic account of the relationship between Alexander and Stuart and if you've not read it yet, I'd advise to do so.
After the works do, despite the free bar I left at quite a reasonable hour - 9.30pm. Knowing that there weren't any trains to rush for and how beautiful the city looked in the dark, I decided to take the scenic and relaxed route through my usually hectic journey home.
Connected to my ipod I walked across the river via footbridge. My favourite bridge. Whenever I miss London it is the image seen from this bridge that is always at the forefront of my mind. That view is 'my London'.
At my slow pace I stopped, lit a cigarette and looked over at the view from the bridge. Beautiful. The solemn, stressed, fast paced walkers I normally shared my journey home with had been exchanged for relaxed laughing groups of people; people analysing a show from the RNT and the mildly drunk and mostly happy.
With a warm alcohol feeling and the lack of stress in the air I smiled at people I walked past on the bridge. At the end of the bridge was a homeless girl. A pretty thing, about the same age as myself, was sat cross-legged crying her eyes out.
Rummaging through my handbag I found a collection of £2 coins. I eagerly gave her one, where she looked up bleary eyed to say thanks. As I exited the bridge down the stairs I look back to see her still sobbing uncontrollably into the sleeves of her mustard coloured jumper.
Continuing my walk under a bridge to Waterloo I came across a cacophony of the more rowdy homeless types. The types that are sat drinking from their cans of cider, slurring contentedly and commenting at those that pass them. Having the clutch of £2 coins in my hand I continued to give them out as I passed. This was met with chirpy "Thanks" and "Have a good journey".
Despite probably having bought crack by the third party, and the fact that I had not done anything truly helpful for them, I had however felt generous to the homeless that evening.
The swing door operator.
Today I swore at a member of TFL staff. Okay, so not directly at them, but my point was made and as I stormed off (as much as you can be described to 'storm' through a platform full of sweaty, aggrevated commuters all heading home for a Friday night reprieve), I immediatly started to feel guilty. You see, the thing is the guy didn't really deserve it.
It was his ferverously inept colleague that did.
The joy of commuting from the commuter belt means that you get lovely little season tickets. Mine's currently heading to be a month old. That's all well and good. For the joy of not having to queue every day for a ticket, which is hell itself, you end up with a ticket that after four days of use no longer works through the manual barriers in any station.
(The hell fury of queueing daily for a ticket is because normally for me, my train is due to depart in five minutes and I'm five deep in a queue of people whilst the person at the desk is buying a train ticket for Kuala Lumpar for five people, not travelling this month and enquiring about the transport connections and weather for that time of year).
So with my ticket that no longer works through the barriers, I have to seek out the poor sod assigned to letting people with bulky luggage and tickets that no longer work, through the swing gate next to the barriers. These people are not often immediatly attentive. You've run up several flights of stairs, bustled past slow moving sweaty and tired people, a faint achievement of being ahead of the herd sweeps over you, and then you're suddenly plunged behind those people and you find yourself finally sweeping onto the concourse with the less abled and those trailing ten kids on the journey. The people that operate the swing doors are most normally; the opposite end of the barriers to which you arrived, sometimes held up by tourists asking for information, often distracted by fellow colleagues, and more than normally lobotomised. I don't mean to sound cruel, nor do I wish to generalise staff of TFL but my current experience does not example otherwise.
On today's occassion the woman in question was in violation of several commuting offences:
(1) Holding up the entire moving walkway, through lack of management of the volume of people trying to exit through the gates. This meant that the normally swift underground movers were forced to stand stationary on the left side of the moving walkway where they would normally be able to walk. The moving walkway moves at a speed of 1mph. You can also see numerous tubes depart during this torture. You could have been on one of them.
(2) General jobsworthnyness. No I do not have time nor inclination to prove to you that my ticket is no longer working by putting it through the manual barrier to be met with the barrier exclaiming "Seek Assistance". Neither, do I expect did the 20 people infront of me who were also put through this procedure.
(3) That she would not allow those with non-functional tickets to go through the swing door. Only persons with bulky kit could go through them. Thus people with 'broken' tickets had to wait idly by closed barriers, whilst she SLOWLY allowed persons with their kitchen sinks to pass through. Many people tried to get through the swing door during this process (I must have been 50 people deep at that point). When I finally had enough of this, I too tried to pass through the swing door to be met by her colleague explaing "No Ma'am come this way", pointing at the manual barrier. For the best part of my journey I was hot, tired, my feet hurt; I'd been jostled, shoved, elbowed, stuck infinately in queues with people in the same disposition.
I then swore.
It was his ferverously inept colleague that did.
The joy of commuting from the commuter belt means that you get lovely little season tickets. Mine's currently heading to be a month old. That's all well and good. For the joy of not having to queue every day for a ticket, which is hell itself, you end up with a ticket that after four days of use no longer works through the manual barriers in any station.
(The hell fury of queueing daily for a ticket is because normally for me, my train is due to depart in five minutes and I'm five deep in a queue of people whilst the person at the desk is buying a train ticket for Kuala Lumpar for five people, not travelling this month and enquiring about the transport connections and weather for that time of year).
So with my ticket that no longer works through the barriers, I have to seek out the poor sod assigned to letting people with bulky luggage and tickets that no longer work, through the swing gate next to the barriers. These people are not often immediatly attentive. You've run up several flights of stairs, bustled past slow moving sweaty and tired people, a faint achievement of being ahead of the herd sweeps over you, and then you're suddenly plunged behind those people and you find yourself finally sweeping onto the concourse with the less abled and those trailing ten kids on the journey. The people that operate the swing doors are most normally; the opposite end of the barriers to which you arrived, sometimes held up by tourists asking for information, often distracted by fellow colleagues, and more than normally lobotomised. I don't mean to sound cruel, nor do I wish to generalise staff of TFL but my current experience does not example otherwise.
On today's occassion the woman in question was in violation of several commuting offences:
(1) Holding up the entire moving walkway, through lack of management of the volume of people trying to exit through the gates. This meant that the normally swift underground movers were forced to stand stationary on the left side of the moving walkway where they would normally be able to walk. The moving walkway moves at a speed of 1mph. You can also see numerous tubes depart during this torture. You could have been on one of them.
(2) General jobsworthnyness. No I do not have time nor inclination to prove to you that my ticket is no longer working by putting it through the manual barrier to be met with the barrier exclaiming "Seek Assistance". Neither, do I expect did the 20 people infront of me who were also put through this procedure.
(3) That she would not allow those with non-functional tickets to go through the swing door. Only persons with bulky kit could go through them. Thus people with 'broken' tickets had to wait idly by closed barriers, whilst she SLOWLY allowed persons with their kitchen sinks to pass through. Many people tried to get through the swing door during this process (I must have been 50 people deep at that point). When I finally had enough of this, I too tried to pass through the swing door to be met by her colleague explaing "No Ma'am come this way", pointing at the manual barrier. For the best part of my journey I was hot, tired, my feet hurt; I'd been jostled, shoved, elbowed, stuck infinately in queues with people in the same disposition.
I then swore.
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