My weekday begins any time between 5am and 6am – I like to get to work early, get everything over and done with, then zip back home and have plenty of time to myself in the afternoon. An added benefit of this is that the daily commute becomes the daily “….whaaaa, I just woke up, and I’m at work” routine. It’s a rare occasion that I can conciously recall getting up, lugging my bod into the shower, shoveling some toast in my cakehole and lumbering, freshfaced, out the door.
Today was a notable exception. See, my local CityRail station leaves the ticket barriers open overnight, and typically closes them early in the morning, at which point you need a ticket to enter the station. This, by some crazy, testicle-crushing coincidence, was the precise moment I came roaring through the train station to Meshuggah blasting through my eardrums (Swedish metal: tasty way to start the day, highly recommended).
CityRail’s trusty ticket barriers were invitingly gaping openly, like a row of six muscle-arsed porn stars spreadeagled, ready to begin their orgy scene. Inward I plunged – exactly at 6am.
Wouldn’t you believe it? 6am is when the barriers are manually closed by a CityRail staff member behind a glass window with a clear view of the barriers.
Naturally this didn’t stop some dumbfuck CityRail employee from closing the barriers on my inner thigh. Nobody – I mean nobody – should play witness to my usually repressed womanly scream at that hour of the day, most especially half-awake commuters. (Now, look, I’ve tried extra fucking hard not to mention a certain wound of mine in this entry, but those barriers came awfully close to pincering something precious of mine).
This led to some (in hindsight, probably quite comical) bellowing and banging on glass windows on my part. I’d just been woken up by some government-operated machine punching my groin, there’d been lots of angry Swedish metal, and now I could see I’d nearly suffered a serious injury because some fatarse public servant didn’t want to turn his head towards the machinery he was operating.
I’d planned to continue raging at him, until I noticed his weirdly manicured lady nails. This old bloke had seriously grown out his nails and quite obviously taken far too much care of them. By this point, the whole situation started feeling a bit too surreal, so I shrugged and continued onto the train platform.
Still, this will all make for some entertaining glaring on my part when I pass this fucker at the train station every morning. There’d be nothing nicer than tying him up in the middle of a train barrier, repeatedly slamming the gates onto his scrotie and screaming with every crunch: “WATCH! … YOUR! … BARRIERS!”