Piccadilly Line Commuters
Make the nation's capital a marginally more bearable place by remembering that the thing you're striving with murderous determination to reach is actually just a fucking job, that the global economy won't stutter to a halt if you land at your desk 15 minutes late, and that your manager is painfully aware that your reliance on London Transport means your arrival times will be at best wildly erratic, and any faint hope of sustained punctuality is frankly pie in the fucking sky, instead of harbouring a pathological hatred of anyone who has the staggering audacity to attempt to board a train at roughly the same time as you without first demonstrating, under laboratory conditions, a deep and profound insight into the innermost workings and vaguest subtleties of a huge and unfamiliar city's gargantuan and barely-functional public transport system.
(Monkey Tennis isn't Spartacus, Thu 22 Feb 2007, 12:30, Reply)