Archie's Medium

Archie's Medium

Every week Archie writes blog posts. He’s covered all sorts; Brexit, Christmas ads, anxiety, cheese, whether Olivier Giroud is the most beautiful person to ever play football. (SPOILER: He is.) It really depends what’s going on in head!

Check it out over on Medium.

Every week Archie writes blog posts. He’s covered all sorts; Brexit, Christmas ads, anxiety, cheese, whether Olivier Giroud is the most beautiful person to ever play football. (SPOILER: He is.) It really depends what’s going on in head!

Check it out over on Medium.

Every week Archie writes blog posts. He’s covered all sorts; Brexit, Christmas ads, anxiety, cheese, whether Olivier Giroud is the most beautiful person to ever play football. (SPOILER: He is.) It really depends what’s going on in head!

Check it out over on Medium.

Every week Archie writes blog posts. He’s covered all sorts; Brexit, Christmas ads, anxiety, cheese, whether Olivier Giroud is the most beautiful person to ever play football. (SPOILER: He is.) It really depends what’s going on in head!

Check it out over on Medium.

Archie Medium

5 Bastards To Watch Out For
On Your Commute

5 Bastards To Watch Out For
On Your Commute

5 Bastards To Watch Out For On Your Commute

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I’ve been commuting for almost 2 years into London. It’s a journey that takes around 2 hours door to door. During these 2 years I’ve begun to notice a particular breed of commuter. One that is relentless, self-important and hostile. This breed is the Middle-Aged Man.

Salt and pepper hair, usually bespectacled and armoured in a navy suit. I say armoured because to them, commuting is a war. They wear funky socks to lull you into a false sense of security. Like the Poison Dart Frog you think ‘aw they look fun’ but no. They are far more toxic than anything you have encountered before. They carry a briefcase. Usually top quality Italian leather, a gift from their wife, a stay-at-home mum, captive so that their mate can assert their dominance by being the sole breadwinner. Below I’ve identified 5 of the main sub-breeds of Middle-Aged Men so that when you travel, you are aware of the dangers they carry.

The Aisle-Seat Arsehole
I thought I’d get the most obvious out the way early. We’ve all encountered this grade-A bellend. Picture the scene. It’s 6pm at a busy London train station. The platform is announced, so half the world flocks to the train. Having overtaken the slower commuters you decide to take the plunge and enter a carriage. There’s the odd middle seat in a row of three, nobody wants that. But then you notice a window seat. You side step down the aisle, shaking your hips to avoid any contact with your fellow commuters, but as you near, you realise that a Middle-Aged Man is blocking your entry. Like a gatekeeper to this sacred seat. But wait. The seat is taken. Not by a human, but by his aforementioned briefcase. You kindly ask if you can squeeze past. You’re then hit with a barrage of sighs and grumbles as though you’ve just walked dog shit into his house, before the Man cuntishly swivels his knees a bit and arches his back to reluctantly allow you entry. Proper bellend.

Middle-Seat Mug
The strategies that are exhibited in a 6 seat compartment of a carriage are extremely interesting. As outlined in the picture below, the first 4 seats get taken quite predictably. The first to arrive obviously takes a window seat. Why wouldn’t they? Literally living the dream. Person 2 then typically takes the aisle seat on the opposing side as it maximises the distance from person 1. Person 3 takes the remaining window seat. They don’t want a middle seat because that’s madness. And with a toss up between a window or an aisle seat, they’re always going to go for the window. Person 4 takes the last remaining aisle seat. Most people, given the opportunity to have a middle seat or stand, would stand. It’s Britain at it’s finest, opting for physical discomfort rather than disrupting passengers for a seat that you are entitled to sit in.

That is unless you have a Middle-Seat Mug amongst you. An utter psychopath. They’ll storm up the aisle, clumsily stride over any knees that get their way, and then aggressively wedge themselves into the middle seat as if to say “I’ve been commuting for years and you scumbags sure as hell aren’t going to deny me what is rightfully mine!” They then wedge themselves down, shimmy their shoulders between the passengers either side of them and then thrust their legs open to force leg room. The collateral damage is devastating; bruises, dead arms, sat-on bags. The hatred for this metaphorical bull in a miserable china shop tends to unify the 4 early passengers who roll their eyes at each other and shift their bodies sarcastically in an attempt to non-verbally call this guy a prick.

The Tabloid Tosspot
If you regularly commute you will know that a seat isn’t always guaranteed. That leaves you with the option of awkwardly wedging yourself in the aisle, or wedging yourself at the end of the aisle, toe to toe with other thoroughly pissed off passengers. Someone might make a joke or comment, exclusively for the standees. Something along the lines of “classic National Rail” or “Well I thought I bought a ticket for a seat!”

The rest of you smile or chuckle politely acknowledging that this person has tried to make the situation slightly more bearable. And they have. That is until a Middle-Aged Man whips out his newspaper and wafts in everybody’s face. Despite standing so close to everyone that you could accurately predict their breakfast, this tosspot believes it’s still possible to read a broadsheet from front to back, violently whipping from one page to the next. They also do that thing where they lick their finger or thumb to help them turn the page. Very muggy.

The 'I Know It’s The Quiet Zone But My Business Is Far More Important Than Your Peace' Prick
The 'I Know It’s The Quiet Zone But My Business Is Far More Important Than Your Peace' Prick is perhaps my most hated passenger. These men take self importance to a whole new level. Let’s get things straight, I have nothing against people working while commuting. In fact, I admire their commitment. It’s the manner in which these Middle-Aged Men go about their business which really cheeses me off, the fact that everyone should know they are working. Typing so loud into their spreadsheet it’s like their piercing the plastic on a microwave meal. And then to cap things off they get a ‘business’ call. Despite being sat in the Quiet Zone, they answer it and then go on to perform the greatest performance of dick swinging known to the human species. Dropping 7 figure deals they’ve just secured into the conversation and how they’re concerned about someone below them not hitting their sales targets. They can fuck right off.

The Mamil
This isn’t an original term. It was reportedly coined by marketing research firm Mintel in 2010. It stands for ‘Middle-Aged Man In Lycra’. So these people are already horrendous human beings. But when they get on the train, they become even more insufferable. Firstly, I don’t know where these people are working that they feel the need to wear the most expensive and high-tech cycling gear. What’s wrong with a pair of trainers and a Boris Bike or the Tube? Secondly, they get up out of their seat so prematurely. They ask if they can ‘squeeze out’ so they can go and untether their bike which they then get into an unbearable conversation with at fellow cyclist about. “Oh wowza! Is that a Ribble R872?” “Yah! I love it. You know they don’t sell them in stores? You have to order them to your spec online.” They talk utter bollocks for about 10 minutes whilst performing some hideous stretches which leave nothing to the imagination. Lastly, they smell.

I’m afraid that if you commute via train, you will inevitably come across these people. And for that I can only wish you good luck.

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