Diary of an up and coming sociopath

I’m not trying to turn this into some kind of blog about the london underground (since there are plenty of existing, far more suited ones which I should probably link to) but I feel an intense need to share this morning’s debacle:

Normally, when a train arrives at the station, it’s already full. At least, if it’s not full, the seats are. On rare occasionas, when two trains arrive close to each other, the one behind hasn’t been able to fill up yet. This presents the perfect opportunity for the quick-witted passenger to board and take one for himself. It’s what I thought had happened today. It seemed too good to be true. As the train pulled up, we realised the carriage we were going to be boarding was full of seats. In fact, as luck would have it, the doors were going to stop right in front of us. I remember thinking how it couldn’t have been planned better as I strode onto the train and took a seat.

But something was wrong. Something with the air. It seemed warmer, somehow. Like it was burning my nostrils when I inhaled. Ian stood up looking confused at the seat for a moment, as if there was something wrong with it. It was clear I wasn’t the only person experiencing this odd nasal sensation. It was almost like….rotting cheese? I couldn’t quite figure out what could be causing it. It became apparant to me that somewhere in the carriage was the source of an incredibly pungent stench which was now working its way into the nostrils of everyone around. We waited a few seconds for the smell to dissipate, but it wasn’t going to. Ian was looking increasingly queasy and while I was trying to figure out if this was simply a case of milk gone bad, or if someone had merely shit in a bag and placed it atop a heater, he suggested we switch carriages, sharpish. I could not find myself in an position to disagree.

As we stood at the end of the next carriage, looking through the door windows at the commuters entering the offending carriage, he explained to me the source of the malodour. Some kind of homeless individual, a “tramp” if you will, was aboard the carriage. In fact, he had been sitting almost directly opposite us. He alone was the source of the stink. The deliverer of disgust. The purveyor of pungence. That explained why we were so easily able to find free seating. So powerful was his effect on the carriage, that it was mostly empty, in fact, he had cleared an entire block of seats around him. Not merely one either side, but almost an entire row, and most of the seats opposite. Several, presumable sensory dead commuters were bearing the situation in the name of sitting down, but even at the end of the carriage, people were pressing their scarves and coats into their faces to protect their noses.

It was a stench unlike any other. To describe it is difficult. What I remember most was the acidic quality it had. The air seemed thick with it, like a strong cheese. It coupled with bad milk, stale faeces, the ammonia of urine. It was surprising to realise that a human could deliver that kind of sensory experience. To smell that bad surely didn’t just require the absence of bathing facilities, but some sheer perverted will to smother one’s self in the most foul smelling of substances daily. Surely.

We spent the rest of the journey watching that carriage like it was some kind of fucked-up reality show meets the terrible truth of homelessness documentary. People were making the same mistake as us, and moving directly to the seats, and we watched them run the same gauntlet of realisation that we did. Some people figured things out before sitting down, and simply continued walking right past the seats and back out the next door. At least one guy tried to find the source of the smell for some time before he realised, and ran into the carriage next to us. I had never seen anything like it, and from now on, it means that whenever I see an empty carriage, I’m going to be slightly wary of what might be the real reason for it. Simple good luck, or something more sinister?

As an aside, I was trying to figure out how I had missed someone in that state sitting mere metres away from me. I put it down to my natural homeless person filter working too well. Having lived in Leamington and Oxford, and now London, the only way I can get any movement done from one place to the next is to ignore the massive homelessness problems each of those cities have. I’m not exactly sympathetic towards the homeless at the best of times, and less so when they’re trying to scam me out of money that I don’t even have. That’s what it’s like in Leamington and Oxford, and that why I’ve taught myself not to even register the sight of them half the time. Unfortunately, my nose hasn’t got the same ability as my eyes in that respect.

In today’s fiscal news, circumstances have required me to make a credit card payment. I was feeling ambitious, so I’ve paid off £75. That actually covers me for next month’s payment as well, should I feel the need to hold off paying next month. I made the transfer online, because it’s never like you’re spending real money that way. In fact, I discovered I had a little more than I expected in my natwest account, which is good, because at this rate another 8 months or so and I’ll maybe be able to celebrate earning money that isn’t immediately someone else’s. That’s my only monetary outgoing for the last day or two, so far. I do have to go give Ian a cheque for the gas bill, but I’m not going to count that until it’s out of my account, otherwise today’s numbers would look horrendous.

Cumulative Total: £814.79