- Clipping your nails (biting is just about bearable, but any activity which results in bits which were previously attached to your body suddenly arcing through the air towards me is a no-no)
- Picking your nose (especially if you subsequently eat/flick/wipe your boogers - see (1), above)
- Scratching your noggin (most especially when it causes a scurfy blizzard to erupt, which then settles in drifts on my clothing and alights on my nose and eyelashes)
- Picking your feet (including and especially if they’re on the seat next to you and/or you’re wearing flip-flops. There is never a right time to debride yourself in public.)
- Scratching your bollocks (sorry, “jiggling your keys.” Yeah, right. I’m not fooled)
- Chewing gum.
In fact, stop: Hammertime.
Let’s examine that one in more detail: since we must endure you chewing like a cow on the cud, it seems reasonable that I should be crystal-clear about what exactly I neither need or want to experience:
I don’t want to see your slack-jawed, open mouthed chewing, as the gum washing-machines around your mouth. If I wanted to see the inside of people’s mouths, I’d have become a dentist.
I don’t want to hear the sound of your eternal, infernal (etfernal?) mastication - the rhythmic, smacking chlump, chlump, chlump of pre-swallowed wetness. Like apples, but neverending.
I don’t want to see you sneakily trying to secrete your spent and shapeless grey lump of taste-empty chud somewhere around you when you’re done you’ve finished your odious chomping. Don’t stick it under a seat, on a wall or between the seat cushions. Hiding something is not the same as throwing it away - and here’s another newsflash: throwing it away from you is not the same as throwing it away. It’s rubbish. It goes in a bin.
If you must chew, wrap it in something when removed from your gob and throw it the fuck away when you find a fucking bin, you asshat.
And most of all, I don’t want to suddenly find my sole tackily dragging something from its footfall, or my bum strangely adhered to the bus seat, like I did earlier on my way home. If you chew gum and then leave it where other people can sit in it, you’re an inconsiderate, hurf-swizzling minch-smuggler and I will hunt you down and hurt you.
And then make you pay for a new pair of jeans.
Tip: place the gum-affected item in the freezer. When the gum freezes it should come off easily. Too bad if it’s in your hair.
There should really be a gum surcharge, to take account of the costs of cleaning the stuff up. If people were paying a quid a stick they might not be so cavalier about reintroducing it to the wild. They might be incited to swallow the stuff. Apparently it takes months to digest.
“hurf-swizzling minch-smuggler”…
You know, usually I’m pretty good at deciphering british slang, but this one confuses me. Also, before you get the wrong idea, I don’t chew gum.
There is no excuse for chewing gum. Full stop, end of story. Possibly the least useful invention in the whole course of human existence, and yes I’m including P*te D*h*rty in that.
But! does this habit
1) Exercise the gums
2) Brighten the teeth
3) Help freshen the breath
4) Prevent one getting into the habit of chewing the inside of the mouth.
5) Keep one young, because surely no old fossil would do it.
6) Keep up the profits of parasitic American confectionary manufacturers who dupe us all into helping their executives buy better cars, and houses, than their customers can afford.
7) Give someone yet another excuse to misuse the English language by writing/saying “when you are done” (Should be as in Do me! Do me next! Do me now! I’m done for!)
Peace.
My suit trousers were nearly wrecked recently by this. The worst thing is that when you realise and want to shout at the culprit they are long gone.
My name is Gordon McLean, and I chew gum.
I’m sorry my disgusting habit annoys but it’s either that or watch me smush 4 Mars Bars and a Dairy Milk down my throat.
As for the bollocking scratching, sometimes it’s not scratching, sometimes it’s “Oh god my boxers are gonna cut my nads off if I don’t move them” emergency action.
You see boxers are usually slightly loose. When you sit down you aren’t always guaranteed that they will play nice, like briefs do. Occasionally you may witness a man, as he takes his seat, pause slightly, rise slightly and subtly (ok, not subtly) rearrange said boxers to ensure his tackle remains functional for the rest of his days.
Honestly, you wummin have it easy!!
*ducks*
@Sour Grapes - thanks for the freezer tip. Tried it, but unfortunately it only works on clumps big enough to be picked off. Not so if you have a nasty smear of gum on your seat. Eventually I got it off with a bit of washing-up liquid and salt.
@Bronte - thank you for the list. I appreciate that there are upsides to chewing gum, but surely you must agree that the benefits can be outweighed by the (social, environmental, audible) cost? Also, your point 7 is a bit petty, really, given the context of the piece, which is a rant. Nevertheless, I’ve changed the wording to be more pleasing to your eye. And now I’m done.
@Gordon - I completely understand the comfort factor required in owning such equipment - and of course, there’s nothing wrong with a little readjustment. What I’m objecting to is that hand-in-pocket slow rhythmic jiggle that is usually accompanied by a faraway look in the subject’s eye. You know what I mean.
As with gum-chewing and everything else, I’m not saying don’t DO it, I’m saying I don’t want to SEE you do it.
FYI,Sour Grapes, gum in the hair can usually be removed by rubbing it (and the hair) with a generous dollop of peanut butter (smooth is easiest).
Another big no no on the tube, in my opinion, is when you sit in the only spare seat in a carriage only to find that the young men either side of you are travelling together when they proceed to have a loud, animated conversation across you. This becomes even more annoying when they gradually lean closer to each other, flecking your clothes and face with spittle and practically resting their elbows on your knees.
A large Norwegian man sat on my knee this morning.
He got on at Kings Cross with his burly mate and they both proceeded to stand in position 5 on this diagram in the post about seating hierarchy, which as you may know, is not designed to be stood in my two big chaps and their rucksacks.
I was in position 1 (as ever) and as a result, when the train jiggled out of the station, the hairy viking ended up sitting on my lap.
“What I’m objecting to is that hand-in-pocket slow rhythmic jiggle that is usually accompanied by a faraway look in the subject’s eye”
I’m pretty sure that is actually masturbation.
Can I propose an addition to the list? Sniffing.
Not a cold-related sniff, not a hearty, good honking texture-heavy sniff, not a sneeze and a ricochet sniffle. I’m talking about the machine-gun sniffer. Every 15-20 seconds, a sniff. Preferably with a lightly snotty undertone to it.
It’s like some kind of mucous-related metronome, water-torture of the winter seasonal variety. Ah the joys of winter tube travel, can’t wait.
Someone pass me the Prozac.