I’m back from Hell: Why are children on trains the worst?
Let me pitch a horror film for you. A dark, quiet night, and a subtle headache. The London Midland train arrives, and floods with people. A mother shrieking drunkenly. Her son screams. Mummy! AGH! Arghhh! Mummy! She shrieks with laughter at her son’s antisocial behaviour. Daddy swears in conversation. The screaming grows. The other THIRTEEN babies and toddlers start screeching. The punchline: 2hrs 49m to go.
I hate, and I mean hate, toddlers on public transport. I can’t stand them. They are awful. I don’t find baby Tom sweet. I don’t smile adoringly when he kicks me or calls his mum a bitch. When he makes raspberry noises, I don’t want to laugh at his merriment, I want to get up and move.
I know! Aren’t I a monster? I’m basically the Baba Yaga. I’m actually the worst. I should be arrested for glaring at poor little Davey. To be honest, I think I deserve a peace prize for my restraint around your tyrannical gene vehicles. I mean, how can you find the confidence to inflict your disgraceful offspring on other people?
I dread your presence in my carriage, toddler. You are my actual hell, if I believed in one. I hope that you and ISIS spend a lot of time discussing ARGH and MUMMY I WANT CRISPS in the depths of the fiery pit. If there was ever any motivation to be kosher and help old ladies across the street, it is the risk of encountering you through some deistic punishment.
Is it wrong to desperately want to whisk a child out of it’s Chardonnay soaked mother’s arms and selotape its mouth shut? I’d never actually do it, I have some moral compass, but a couple of hours of shrieking would send a saint mad. I know, I should never have children. Happily, your baby Chia has put me off reproduction for life.
Does it do that all the time? The wailing, the hitting, the rolling, the punching, the swearing, the screaming? It’s so badly behaved that it resembles your boyfriend. How do you cope? Actually, I know, because your cackling is just as blood-boilingly annoying. You must be immune.
Just -please- accept your child is a demon. It is not cute. It is not cuddly. It smells, it is noisy, and it has appalling manners. I am tired of grinning cheerfully at your monsters. If I glare, it is because your son or daughter is a jerk. There can be no debating on that. However sleepy or hungry baby Ollie is, he is a loud obnoxious disaster of a travelling companion.
So when you are asked to move out of the quiet carriage, just go.
You really aren’t the victim here.