Work to get to work

Until today, I have been oblivious to the extreme sport that my husband partakes in daily. Today, I was introduced to the underground sport of the 'metro'... That big M that you see on every second corner, (no, not the Macdonalds sign), is actually the entrance to a rabbit warren of mayhem, perturbation and irratibility.




I have always been confused by my husband returning from work hot and sweaty when it is cold outside; "You do not understand, there are so many people on the train." I have always been confused how my husband can possibly arrive an hour late to work when he allows an hour for a 45 min trip of train and tram hopping; "You do not understand, there are so many people on the train". I have always been confused as to why he does not just take his jacket off on the train and push in instead of constantly waiting for the next train as 'hopefully it will have more room'; "You do not understand, there are so many people on the train!" I was convinced that he was over exaggerating and that the commuting time was a great chance for him to read his book and relax away from home and work.

So we ventured into the city today for an appointment at 8.30am with the kids. Not too many people walking the streets, or in the station, or even waiting on the platform for that matter. But as the train arrives, all I see is a blur of squished faces doing the 'blow fish' up against the windows. It truly was new meaning to packed in like sardines.




Within 2 minutes of the train trip, I was sweating profusely, there was no option to remove my jacket let alone scratch my nose. There was absolutely no room!! I was holding Leon on my hip at the time, which I probably could of done with no hands, as the force of the train mosh pit seemed to be keeping him above breathing level just fine. Exiting the train was like the breaking walls of a dam, and I walked down several corridors before I was able to cling onto a wall to remove my jacket. This is a chore in itself ; 'delayering' myself and 2 small children for a short trip, only to layer again minutes later when we reach destination. Then there is the transportation of jackets, scarves and hats on the train, (no room to scratch my nose remember)!


After our appointment, we go back to the platform for our return train ride home. Not only do people just stand in front of you as though you are invisible, and they are obviously of more importance, but they stand directly in front of the exit, not allowing people to get off as they try to get on!! Sort it out people, they need to get off SO you can get on!


I now understand why my husband is sometimes late for work; I now understand why he arrives home with sweat on his brow; and I now understand why he has not read much of his novel. It is work to get to work. There is always the option to drive?? Driving in Milan... another story all together...