I gotta hand it to ya….

Ok another rant for you all to enjoy.

I was on the train traveling home from work the other day, when I found myself in the most awkward of battles for supremacy you could encounter on a train.

The train was particularly full that day due to an earlier delay and I was packed in like a sardine. A sardine in a “No Name” brand tin to boot. Like the veteran public transport whore that I am I immediately maneuvered myself into a position that allows excellent grippage access to the pole in the middle of the carriage. Like a swimmer desperate to stretch that extra inch at the wall but missing out on the gold medal by a fraction of a second, a significantly taller man grabbed at the bar – his hand positioned slightly above mine. Despite his bulky frame being a little too close for comfort, this did not bother me, as I mentioned the train was packed and like an inmate stripping down for his first shower in jail, I had already mentally prepared myself for 45 mins of being physically violated.

What I did not account for, however, was this males particularly liberal hand movements on the pole. (Please people, this is not meant to be dirty). Every time his hand moved too close to mine I waited the obligatory 5 secs in order for him to realise what was going on and that I had already staked my claim on that particular piece of pole real estate and move accordingly. Not only did this not occur, but by not moving my own hand I somehow gave the signal that I was “easy meat” and that I could be treated however he liked. It got to the point where the bottom fingers of his hand were overlapping slightly with my thumb and index finger. Eventually I caved in, and moved my hand, feigning a quick song change on my iPhone so it did not appear that I was actually attempting to escape the sweaty man hand on the pole. (Out of the gutter guys).

I tactically placed my hand a good 3 cm underneath his hand and gleefully went back to listening to my music and staring at the girls in the carriage. No less than 5 mins later I feel a slight tickle on my wrist and move to brush it away, assuming it is a spider or small insect. To my horror I see that the offending hand has repositioned itself slightly, feeling that the extra 3cm was distance I generously gave to him out of the kindness of my heart. The tickling sensation turned out to be particularly long hand hairs from this gentleman, reacting with my own hand hair in one of the most “ewwwwww” moments I have experienced in recent times.

By this point I was well and truly sick of it, and was formulating both polite and impolite methods to reclaim what was rightfully mine.

Unfortunately I never got my chance as moments later the train slowed on approach to the station, my adversary quickly adjusted his bag and the hand was gone.

Feeling a tremendous sense of injustice I looked around for a potential foe but came up with nothing, as the carriage had emptied significantly at that last station. This left me depressed.

The story does have a happy ending however. A few stations later I eyeballed an empty seat and make a break for it, beating an old lady to the punch.

I had won the day.