A single Tube station has more signs than the whole of Times Square. Priority seat, service suspended, mind the gap, these escalators are out of service and will be for the next 13 years, ticket inspectors are easy to spot — they look like you.
I know this because I’ve looked in earnest for a sign that surely must exist but that I’ve never seen. The one that says: the Tube gives you an invisibility cloak, use it wisely.
It must be there, because why else would otherwise entirely civil people behave like unseeable beings as soon as they step on the Underground? It’s not so much the sharp elbows that form a key part of rush-hour-seat strategising — we’re all guilty of that. Or even the make-up sessions. It’s a bit weird but I can see the benefits of another 10 minutes in bed in favour of some mirror-gazing between Kennington and Camden Town.
Warning: the following sentence contains graphic imagery. Only proceed if you take the Tube. What makes me sure people think they’re invisible is the nose-picking, eyebrow-plucking, balls-scratching, skin-exfoliating, deodorant-spraying activity that kicks off as soon as the Tube lady-voice advises passengers to “mind the closing doors”.
Whoosh — they’re instantly off. Last week I sat next to someone at the end of the Northern line who occupied herself by brushing her long, frizzy brown hair. In itself, this was already undesirable: it was one of those sunny days where you can see the dust in the air, and thus get a good view of how a chunk of hair that had previously been lying happily on our (anti) hero’s head was now hitching a lift on dust particles and travelling around the carriage. Anyone worried about catching their Tube-riding menfolk with hairs on their jacket — he might be telling the truth.
But then she got worse. Hair brushing session over, the woman then proceeded to excavate the hairs out of her brush — and sprinkle them on the floor. Here I broke free of English reserve and told her this was disgusting. She looked at me, shocked — probably wondering if she could get a refund on her clearly-faulty cloak of invisibility — then laughed and carried on.
It opened my eyes to a whole new game of Eye Spy: Tube Activities That Really Should Take Place In The Bathroom (or TATRSTPITB for short: new late-night programme idea, ITV?). You don’t get many points for nose-picking: it’s just too common. Still, bonus points for spotting someone really going for it, burying a finger so deep you wonder if he’s about to hit his hypothalamus. Five points for eyebrow tweezing — apart from anything else, aren’t they worried about jabbing themselves in the eyeball? Big bonus for toenail cutting, leg-shaving and teeth brushing. Tweeters this week spotted someone cleaning their molars mid-station, before offloading their froth-filled mouth onto the Tube line.
We made more than 1.1 billion Tube journeys last year. Doing so is often unpleasant: delays, sauna levels of heat, being rammed in tighter than Eric Pickles in skinny jeans all see to that. But it would be a whole lot nicer if we didn’t have to sit in the midst of other people’s bogies, hairs and toenail clippings. Leave your imaginary cloaks at home please, Londoners — and your personal grooming sessions too.
Twitter @lucytobin
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