When travelling on the London Underground, one is expected to allow passengers to get off the train before getting on. It's polite and conducive to efficiency. This morning as always, I stood to the side of the door as should be done. As soon as the door was open, a throng of arseholes (basically everyone but me) stampeded on-board with little regard for etiquette or rules. I eventually managed to squeeze in backwards, pushing against the mass with my buttocks just long enough (I hoped) for the doors to close.
A short and rotund Indian schoolboy approached the carriage. To get an idea of his appearance, imagine a brown billiard ball in a navy school uniform and a teenage moustache. He made for my door. If Archimedes had it right, the train would overflow if this little soldier tried to come on board. I was having none of it. I took advantage of the fact that those by my side were facing inwards while I was facing outwards. They would not see what I was doing. As the little asteroid stepped in, I extended my hand and pushed him gently away on the forehead. He pushed hard against my hand. I pushed harder to stop him getting in.
'Hey!' he squealed. 'Stop pushing me!!' That little fucker could make a very big noise. I let him on and by some miracle managed to stay on myself. I was a mess, sweating bullets and trembling at the knees. At the next stop, nobody got on or off. At the stop after, I had to step onto the platform to allow those behind me to get out. I barely managed to squeeze back in. The man in front of me bent down two seconds before the doors closed, pushing me off with his arse.
As the train moved on, I caught a glimpse of the fat schoolboy inside, slotting a chocolate bar between his fat pouty lips.

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