Grey's Journal:
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Imagine you are sitting in a restaurant. The waitress brings you the burger you ordered. She places it on the table, and with a smile says: "Don't worry, we keep the rat poison and the burger meat far away from each other in the kitchen." Worries you never had, now enter your mind. This is the method the British Transportation Department is using to let people know how safe their double decker busses are. "Did you know," proclaims the poster I have seen all over London "That our busses can lean 28 degrees before falling over?" No, I didn't. I also had never given a moments thought to the busses falling over, exploding, and killing everyone inside. After seeing the poster designed to alleviate my worries, I held my breath every time a bus rounded a tight corner. So, I stuck to the underground for my first two months in London. The underground cars have two kinds of seats. The first form two rows the length of the car and and face each other. But there are also two standing seats on each end of the car facing the length of the interior. I like the standing seats the best. I think of them as noble seats. No one encroaches on my precious elbow space. Because the seat faces parallel to the direction of motion, when the car accelerates, I get pressed against the back of my seat, not against the person next to me as in the other kind of seat. I also have my own little window I can adjust as I see fit, and best of all, a door right next to me. If something goes wrong, I'll be the first one off. No trampled to death for me like the suckers in the middle of the car. In addition, at the end seat, I am the only one with a full view of all the passengers. Everyone else is stuck looking at the three people opposite them. I see all and keep a watchful eye on the crowd. A noble overseeing the serfs. Of course, I can't always get that seat, so some days I'm the surf, stuck in between a fat guy and a kid picking his nose in the middle of the car waiting to be trampled to death if the lights go out. On those days, I like to watch the eyes of the passengers across from me as the car decelerates for each stop. Their eyes bounce back and forth as they look out the windows. It's as though they are watching a fast paced tennis match over my shoulder. It always makes me smile. I particularly like the recorded voices announcing each stop with articulate acumen. It comes out as a song that I like to mouth along with once I've set it to memory. I've made up personalities in my mind that accompany the different voices. My favorite is the circle line girl. I imagine her as the shy, wall-flower daughter of some higher-up in the underground beurocracy. She was encouraged to do the recording because of her beautiful voice. She declined to, but was eventually convinced by her father. I see her in the recording studio, shaking at the thought of her voice directing millions of people for years to come. She records, `Mind the Gap' but is so nervous, she splits the last word into two syllables: Gah-up. None of the recording studio staff correct her, for fear of making her ever more nervous. The worst voice is the male recording who blasts out `Mind the gap!' like an American. I cringe every time I hear him. It is my opinion that voices of all impersonal system (computers, airports, etc.) should be female. It's a lot harder to get mad at a female voice. The underground's one disadvantage is that it closes at midnight. Like Cinderella, you have to leave the party early to catch your carriage. However, the double decker busses run twenty-four hours a day. Sooner or later, I would need to get over my fear and use them. I envisioned myself at 3AM on some unlucky, rainy, cold day, trying to learn the bus system. I'd be tired and cranky and not the least bit patient. To be kind to my future self, I endeavored to learn the busses in advance. I swore off the underground for a week and bought myself a 7-day bus pass. Riding the double decker busses gave me a new perspective on London. From the top seats, I can see the continuity of the city. When I used the underground, London was a series of islands connected by black tunnels. But now I can see how London fits together. I watch as Tufnel Park blends into Kings Cross, into Oxford Circus. In addition, London's unique architecture has suddenly become visible to me. Walking around on the sidewalk level, the store have utilitarian fronts like most cities. But one story up, the buildings retain their old-world structure. Somehow, I never noticed until I looked out the windows of the double decker busses. London has become much more charming to me now. The busses are cheaper, but they are only good if you already know where you are going. If you are trying to get to a new place, or even a familiar place by a new route, good luck. There is no recorded pleasant female voice to announce the stops. There isn't even an unpleasant male voice. You are on your own and need to recognize your destination by sight. Not good for places you have never been, and surprisingly tricky even for places you have been to. I've sailed right on by many of my intended stops without realizing. Another disadvantage is the busses are slow. Especially on Totnham Court Road or Oxford Circus. Once I saw the bus I needed to take a block a head of me. I walked down the street and got on. I couldn't help but wonder: what was the point? I just out walked a bus that had a head start of fifty meters. From my seat, I watched impatiently as little old ladies zoomed ahead on foot. It's difficult to read on the busses. I like to take the seats on the top floor in the very front. There is a large window in front, so I can look down on everyone in the street (much like my preferred underground seat). This spot give me the sensation of flying over London, but this results in motion sickness when I try to read a book. Doesn't stop me though. I'll still read and try to ignore the nauseous feeling growing in my stomach. The other reason it's hard to read is because of the people. For some mysterious sociological reason, people are as quiet as the interstellar void on the underground, but they chat away on the busses. It's the only place the Europeans sound loud. I was trying to read The Reptile Room the other day, but I could help but be distracted by the two French girls behind me. One of them had boyfriend problems that were now my problem as well. "Tom's very good with his hands..." she said loudly "...but not much else. He has no idea what to do with his tongue and as for the rest..." I wanted to ask the girl for a cell phone and her boyfriend's number. I would call him and have a nice little chat. "Hello?" "Hi, is this Tom?" "Yeah, who's this?" "You don't know me, but I, and everyone else on the 390 North, know all about your inability to sexually please your girlfriend." "What?!" "Look Tom, I don't really care about you, but I was at a good part in my book, when your girlfriend's voice shattered my concentration. So promise her you'll participate in foreplay and get better with your tongue so she she'll shut up and I can read in peace. OK? Thanks." Sadly, those are the moments in life we can only fantasize about. Leave a comment, send an email or join my
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Copyright © 2003 Wellington Grey  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License. |
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