The Commute, Part I

Back in March of this year, I had just embarked on the real-life-adult world of commuting. It was daunting, soul crushing and inspiring in equal measure.

"I see the same people every morning. As I wait for my train to work, 'the usual suspects' and I all huddle sheepishly over our smartphones and avoid contact with each other. I've seen these 20 or so people every weekday for the past 2 months, and we've not shared much more than a few awkward, jarring glances at each other. We've never held conversations, much less exchanged names. That's why I've started christening them myself.

My favourite is Frog Boy (though I assume his parents went for something a little more traditional). I first spotted him on a nippy March morning as he limped through the heavy doors and found a secluded spot on the platform. He was clutching protectively at a thermal coffee mug with both hands held close to his hollow chest. Long, slender fingers tightly interlocked.

He has a stretched figure, covered by a pale raincoat that's worn and probably a few sizes too big. He always takes a quick reading of his surroundings from both directions when he walks outside, and when he's satisfied that nothing much has changed since the previous morning, directs his attention to an interesting spot on the floor just in front of his feet.

His eyes are watery and rounded, like two deeply set water balloons fit to burst, in a paltry face. His whole body twitches with frightful alertness whenever the slightest noise sounds around him. So much so that every morning I wait for the moment when the conductor's announcement will inevitably send him jumping off the platform edge altogether, as a matter of instinct - Amphibious eyes bulging in terror, coffee spilt on the commuter adjacent to him.

“Dotty” emerges at about 7:10am. She's a portly woman. A starkly spherical contrast to the delicate frame of my coat-clad friend.

On wobbling kitten heels, she takes short, determined strides – no, she doesn't stride, she 'totters'. Yes, Dotty totters - straight past me each morning. Her hair is a masterfully curated bob that adds a few inches to her height. Her makeup is worn more like war paint, bright circles of blusher defiantly fending off middle age (her concealer is the cavalry keeping crows feet at bay). She takes a smooth compact mirror from her handbag and heaves a heavy sigh at the reflection it presents her with before absently applying an extra layer to the veneer.

If I were to attempt small talk with either, it would probably be Dotty. She stands with her arms neatly folded, unflinching – whereas Frog Boy appears far too skittish. My concern is that, if I were to approach him, he would panic as if cornered and make a hasty, fumbling retreat back behind the safety of the double-glazed doors.

The most likely candidate for a genuine discussion however, is “George”. He just looks like a George. A proud, distinguished countenance that comes from inherently British values and at least one of the world wars. He's elderly, but stoic. Not at all fragile-looking despite the arc in his spine and the limp in his gait. His square jaw runs parallel to a stiff upper lip, marred at the corners with a myriad of fine lines.

George battles with the paper every morning. Minor gusts of wind always seem to foil his plans to read the World News section. He holds the papers steadfast in front of him regardless, and stares at the rippling print intently, trying to decipher the shifting sentences with dignity and decorum. George never loses his battles with the Metro, though there have been a few close calls.

He strikes me as the sort of person who has a lot to offer to a conversation, but rarely does. A coarse outer shell stubbornly encasing a good few decades of stories and experience. In fact, the only thing I've ever really heard him utter so far are a couple of short, crisp coughs (though even those are swiftly caught in a well-laundered handkerchief before they're given chance to escape too far). A fiercely solemn and respectable individual, is our George.

More than likely, these same three people are observing me in the same way. It's been 2 months, after all, and there's not a lot to do on such a baron station platform. You can only count along with the time on the digital display board for so long, and after a while, even the delay announcements fail to keep you amused. But that's fine by me. The human condition is a marvelous thing."