Stuff Londoners Fancy: Being in a Hurry

Good morning! Thanks for all of your well wishes for Daniel's man flu- he is on the mend, at work, and even took out both the recycling AND trash last night, without even being asked (he does this quite often, might I add. But just the fact that he did it while battling the man flu is truly something to brag about)! 

 Not much else is happening with us in London, which means I will add a new addition to Stuff Londoners Fancy.

Being in a Hurry

When approaching a tube station, you would think that the underground only arrives once every 20 minutes. People are pushing others out of the way so that they can press their Oyster travel card on the yellow card reader before anyone else. And if it's your turn, and you don't have your Oyster card ready? You WILL be tsked at. Or possibly bludgeoned . 

Once through the line, people are halfway jogging down the escalator. You better stand to the right, if you are one of those deranged people not running to get on the train, or someone will huff at you to "MOVE OVER!" so that they can run down the escalator. Seriously, nothing quite screams "tourist" like someone standing on the left side of the escalator step, or, GASP, sharing a step with a friend. 

And if you hear the train approaching? Watch out. No, really. You will think people are being chased by a heard of brain-eating zombies to make it on the train.One time a man sprinted around the corner because he heard the train, RAN INTO ME chest first as I was getting off the train, and skidded about 10 feet before flopping on the hard, cold, dirty tile. I didn't know if I should help him or chew him out. I just walked away, pretending that nothing happened. 

With this being observed, you would think that the tube must not come very often. Wrong. Most trains comes about once a minute. These hurried people cannot let 60 seconds of their day go unaccounted for, so instead of just peacefully waiting for an extra minute, they risk falling down escalators, running in to strangers, or tripping into the gap. 

These signs are not a joke. They are scattered all around the stations: 

Truthfully, I always have to keep this hurried state of mind in check. When I catch myself walking so fast that I might as well be running, just to go to the store, I have to consciously tell myself to stop and slow down. I find when Daniel and I are together, it's like we try to one up each other with how quickly we can walk, passing up slow pokes, dodging stopped people. But why? Why are we so hurried? Why is it so bad to reach your destination 3 minutes later? What will possibly be missed in that short amount of time? Truly, being hurried is no way to live. But nevertheless, it is something Londoners seem to fancy very much.