My journey into work takes me to Central for a change of trains. There's nothing new in that, or exciting - in fact, we stream from the train like mice discovered in a wheat silo, flowing down the stairs together to change platforms. A big hello to all those who join me in such a plague-like rush.
But, before we get off the train, there's a jockeying for position to be near the doors - just in case the last people to get off are accidentally left trapped inside when the train pulls out again. I've seen people getting out before the stop preceding Central. That's a little extreme. The majority, however, start to rise when they "feel" the station approaching, or they see enough other people moving, or they fear that the queue to get out the door will trap them in their seats - or when they finally wake up.
Who knows what triggers the rush?
On one day, I'd managed to be on the seat near the stairs, with no-one beside me, & I thought I'd instigate one such panic, so I got up & went down to the vestibule. I instantly turned my attention to the doors - the object of affection that everyone else seemed fascinated with. There were ten-plus people with nothing better to do than wish for those doors to open, staring longingly & slack-jawed at the metal. They weren't yet pressed against the doors, clawing to escape, but their focus was held to the dark crack down the centre; they were awaiting their deliverance.
I shuddered & turned away, looking out the other side - through the windows of the now-abandoned & unloved doors that people were moving away from. I travel that line every morning, & I suddenly realised that at some point in the recent past, they'd torn down a building that had been standing just to the side of the tracks for longer than I've been alive.
The world had changed as I passed by, & I had been focusing my attention on how to be the first down the stairs when the train stops. Take a moment. What are you missing when your daily routine is indifferentiable from a zombie state?
