Based on a recent experience at a train station, I sent the following to my email list and had some lovely emails back. And so I thought I'd share it here for those not subscribed to my list.
As the train pulls into the station everyone prepares for the doors to open. The dash for the escalator is nigh.
As the beeps seemingly pull the doors back from their hinges, the steam can be seen rising from the bulls' horns.
There's no way he's getting off before me!
Why can't she just wait!
I was first!
…The thoughts ring out through the carriage.
I take a step back, my mother's words ringing in my ears, “Let other people off first”.
The escalator jams up like a post war ration queue.
Except none of us are hungry. At least not really hungry.
We're short on time.
Or at least so we think.
It's 6 p.m.
I'll be home later than normal.
I don't want to miss kick off.
I want to eat dinner by 7.3o.
The frustration builds as the escalator cries at full capacity.
Some are forced to wait, much to their dismay.
I fade to the back of the queue.
I choose contemplation over stress, observation over frustration.
Within a minute the pathway is clear.
I walk up the escalator and into the ticket hall.
I breeze past half of those who swept me aside to save time they'll never own.
They are stuck behind an old lady who has misplaced her ticket.
Time chose them the wrong queue.
Time stole back the minute they thought they'd gained.
Time is an indiscriminate thief.
Take a moment to share this with a friend.
Alfred.
