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For those of us who are regular commuters
on peak hour trains; we have seen it all. We know the battleground the platform becomes, the strategic movements needed to survive, and the primitive beasts
that are released from within us all.
After a long day at the office, we know our
greatest obstacle is still to come, for even the slightest
chance of a seat on the train sparks social Darwinism. It is survival of the
fittest, and only the most elite, most tactical and premeditated plan of
attacks will prevail. Sure, you can know the general area to stand where the
train doors stop, but that eliminates only the most naïve of competition. You
need to plan much further ahead to last in combat of this calibre.
Over the years, some of the more cunning
methods I’ve witnessed from travelers have been from:
-
The oversized-backpack wearer: The pack acts both as a weapon of mass sabotage as well as an improvised
shield. You could be a peak hour connoisseur, but if you’re standing behind an
oversized-backpack wearer, forget it! It is Mario kart triple banana peel
damage to your game.
-
The sneaky pusher inner-er: A necessary
technique needed to outlast the competition is to monitor your position. Stand
your ground, be vigilant of your surroundings and do not lose focus. For if you
become distracted, even for a second, you could fall prey to one of these
bad-boys. One moment you’re standing in your usual spot, right where the doors
open up, next thing you know, you’ve got a sneaky pusher inner-er standing
right in front of you, costing you your chance for a seat.
And the most
vicious of commuters…
-
The seemingly fragile elderly woman:
Have you ever seen poison ivy? It looks so delicate and unassuming.
But it is a merciless plant. It will strike whoever crosses its path with no
regard for anyone but itself. Seemingly fragile elderly women are not what they
appear to be at all. They have roamed this land for much longer, they know the ways
of the front line well. These are the opponents you need to be wary of. For
when you are afraid of using your best attacks, they will completely assault
your entire being in order to get ahead.
The train
charges in; sweat dripping from your brow, you use your peripheral vision to
eye your rivals.
The train stops.
Three.
Two.
Two.
One.
The doors open.
FIGHT!
It is complete
anarchy. Whistles blowing, arms flailing, computer-generated voices announcing
various destinations... The guy with the huge backpack is using his oh so
clever side to side movement to ensure any hope potential challengers behind
him may have are shattered at the face of his backpack. You see crowds
stampeding into the carriage, and what little seats are left are filling up
fast. You panic. The elderly woman has already begun bewitching the crowds with
her “weak” façade. You have to do it. You resort to your best defiance in the
realm of the peak-hour train.
You wail out
loud and fake a broken ankle. It is the only way.
Hobbling onto the train, you take your throne of triumph, and rightfully so.
Hobbling onto the train, you take your throne of triumph, and rightfully so.