On the Line: Crisis on the London Tube
Last Tuesday evening I underwent a major catastrophe.
I had to get to an evening class in central London straight after work and I had no money on my Oyster card. THEN I realised I had left my purse at home. By this time, there was no-one in the nearby area from whom I could borrow any money without begging strangers for their change.
I was loath to give up on my Korean class as I’d missed the previous one. So I phoned the most reliable man in my life – my Dad – who told me what to do.
After establishing that one can indeed travel without spending any money – you just have to ask the station supervisor for a “permit to travel” and they’ll call ahead to make sure someone will let you out at your desired station – I set off from Finsbury Park to Russell Square, the opposite direction from home, hoping I would actually be able get home at some point later that night!
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My crisis had been solved!
I should have been overjoyed, but I couldn’t help but well-up with furious, stress-induced tears. I had an overwhelming fatalistic feeling that I was trapped in London; that London had consumed me and would never let me out – a feeling that was increased tenfold by the notion of having to sit in a small, moving, underground space with a group of strangers who couldn’t care less about me, and having to do so repeatedly, interminably, for however long I continue to live in London.
I don’t usually cry in public places – I am a solitary crier by nature – but I couldn’t help it; I just wanted to howl at the sky and cry my eyes dry. In fact, I felt that the tube was a pretty anonymous place, and, while half the cause of the issue, could be it’s remedy too: despite being surrounded by people, I felt distinctly alone. I was in a Cas World bubble, where I was convinced I would go entirely unnoticed by those around me – so I let a few tears fall.
Thinking back to this, I’m curious:
why do we assume that, because we live in a big, busy city, we’re automatically faceless and invisible to the people that surround us?
Yes, they are strangers, but that doesn’t make them people any less. I think it says a lot that Londoners tend to expect almost a complete disconnection to other Londoners in public places.
We don’t talk to people, we don’t smile at people, we don’t even like to make eye contact on public transport for too long. I know this because I like to have a good look at the people around me during my journeys and, in turn, I mostly tend to get ignored and sometimes get the “you’re crazy” eyes.
The only people that have no qualms about long eye contact are babies and young children, and it’s usually only in their presence that I get the odd smile from other adults. So I was pretty sure I could have a silent cry safely on the tube, if I didn’t make it too obvious.
But my bubble was burst by a kind TFL guy, who asked me if I was ok, just as my train pulled up. Taken aback, I must have looked at him with surprise as I told him I was “fine”, because he said, apologetically: “your eyes don’t look fine”.
That did it, pushed me over the edge – I felt a lump in my throat as I choked back tears. And now I was faced with a carriage full of staring strangers. I had never before wished I was invisible so much as this day, nor got quite so many looks – my bottom lip was trembling and I was wringing my hands to stop myself bawling. I tried to avoid making eye contact, but the guy who sat opposite me was determined that he needed to ask me if I was ok. “Why today?” I felt like shouting, “leave me alone!”
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But, by the time I got out in the fresh air again, I was a lot happier. I had been proved wrong – people do care, at least a little bit, about their fellow Londoners. And my resolve to smile at people on the tube was much stronger by the time I travelled home that night (having borrowed money from a generous fellow Korean student).
Since then, I have approached a woman on the Piccadilly line who I recognised, and had an interesting two-stop chat with her about a piece of her performance work I had seen. She was friendly, happy to speak to me and actually thanked me for coming to sit next to her. Why can’t all Londoners be like that?
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Tags: city disconnection Joy London loneliness strangers tube
Categories: From the Heart