How To: #BecomingAnAdultTips – 11
XWHY’s Justin Time avails us of the perils of growing into full manhood…whatever that might be…
Becoming an adult is a troublesome process. Few people make it out of adulthood alive. Whether you’re scraping twenty-one or hitting forty, there is always another mistake you didn’t know you needed to make as part of your overall growing process. Basically, this is a compilation of things you didn’t know you needed to know. I’ve done the research, the groundwork and a lot of really stupid sh** so that you don’t have to. From paddling pools to pirate costumes, achieving adult status is not always what it seems…
Tip no. 11 – Everyone discovers their public transport personality, and it’s not always what you might expect…
Perhaps the most terrifying part of becoming an adult, is getting a job. I don’t feel psychologically or fiscally secure enough to impart any wisdom on that front quite yet. However, there is a rite of passage that comes along with employment that I feel is particularly indicative of adulthood.
Whatever age you are—a young pup stepping into his first pair of big-boy shoes, or an older specimen stepping out of the work-from-home cocoon—there is a new part of your day you have to get used to when you first deal with the very adult world of working somewhere that doesn’t allow you to do so in your pants: the commute.
Whether you are tubing it around central London or hopping on the tractor-bus from one tiny village to another, at some point you have to make the very grown-up choice of who you want to be when you are making facial contact with some dude’s armpit.
I, personally, have developed what I like to think of as a good method of being just the right kind of arsehole, and I’m here today to tell you about it.
Funnily enough, this is the one area in my life where being an arsehole takes a little bit of work, because it’s all about moderation and balance.
The integral thing to master is getting enough of the train etiquette right—moving down inside the carriage, keeping your headphone level down, making room for Ted’s sheep on the tractor bus—so that people think you are the most considerate person in the country.
This, I’m afraid, means being hyper-aware of any way in which you might inconvenience people. It may sound exhausting, but this performative saintliness will pay off in the end.
It means that when you do inevitably blow a fuse, turn around to the elderly nun next to you and shout “MOVE DOWN THE F*CKING CARRIAGE OR NO ONE WILL EVER LOVE YOU,” spitting all of your pent up hatred into her benevolent octogenarian face and causing her to drop her leaflets for Kittens For Orphans, far from becoming the London Underground pariah, you’ll be hailed as the train-messiah!
The commute, whilst being one of the most exhausting, infuriating and dehumanizing experiences in your everyday life, is the only place in which this absurd morality exists, and part of being a true adult is coming to embrace it, finding your inner arsehole and enjoying the moral superiority that comes from a very special brand of rudeness.