By Suzanne Coulson @thesuzycblogspot | Illustration by @katiestewartartist
Metro Musings – Coffee, Commutes and the Battle of the Bladder
Another day, another metro.
I might be jinxing myself here, but in the time I’ve been commuting, everything has been hunky dory. No delays. No people talking on speaker whilst holding their phones to their mouths (whyyy!), and no charva tunes belting through the carriages. It’s all good. I’m calm, collected, and zen whilst I wait for my bestie, the platform voice woman, to tell me when my metty’s due!
As the metro approaches, it’s looking canny steamed up. Busy! As I alight, a bloke has already begun shuffling and hugging his bag on the seat to prove it’s really important, really heavy, and obviously has its own metro ticket! The carriage is busy but not crammed. I could stand. I could perhaps perch on the end of a seat in the middle, having to make weird eye contact as knees rummage together awkwardly with the person opposite. Nah – today I’ve decided I’ll miff this bloke off.
‘Sceeeuuuuuuuuze meeeeee,’ I smile, as I’ve already taken my bag off and (whether he likes it or not) I’m firmly planting myself next to him. He’s got swift reflexes as he realises that I’m not waiting, and he removes said backpack from the seat just in time.
Now comfy, I sit with my new flask and sip my coffee. This is my third of the morning: one in bed each morning as I wake and read the news, one whilst rushing around getting ready, then the third gives me my pep talk for the day whilst travelling.
Now, speaking of caffeine… I may have borne, what is now, a grown adult, but the bladder control is shot, and I am dying for the loo! It’s not lost on me that this is karma getting one back on me for not giving two hoots about the bloke’s backpack next to me.
Halfway to work, I’m praying that the bladder holds out; otherwise, this bloke’s going to have a worse day sitting next to me! I sit cross-legged, still drinking the coffee like an absolute sadist. Deep breathing and pelvic floor exercises (which they say no one can tell you’re doing, but I reckon my pained face had a few commuters on the verge of reporting me!).
I get off at Central and sideways closed-leg walk/run to the office, all while trying not to picture waterfalls, running rivers, or any other liquid that might trigger my bladder to betray me—a game of bladder roulette, if you will. I make it—just!
Lesson learned? You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But no, as I sit at my desk reflecting on my journey and sipping yet another coffee, I’m already plotting tomorrow’s commute. Will I skip a third cup and spare myself the agony? Probably not. Life’s too short, and mornings are too cruel without caffeine.
Strangely, evening journeys don’t suffer the same fate at all. By then, the caffeine’s worn off, the flask is empty, and I’m simply coasting home, unbothered by Metro politics or bladder bother. Just me, staring out of a window at a sunset I barely notice, wondering what’s for tea.
