The train arrives. Its like an old Red Hen, except it’s orange. It’s already packed. All of us on the platform pause for a moment but no one gets off, so we surge on. I get on last in the hope of getting off first. The carriage is impossibly packed. The music plays, the door is about to close.

An old woman in need of a new hip totters up to the door and without even looking at me, tries to get on after me. She looks powdery and fragile and I’m worried for her. Actually she is all sharp elbows and heels, crushing my toes and poking me in the stomach, forcing me back into the person behind me who gives a millimeter or two. The old lady hears me yelp a bit, but she doesnt look at me or offer anything by way of a “Sumimasen”. My feet are no longer under my hips, I can’t balance. It’s only because she is so short that I am able to work my hand out, thrust it up and grab onto the handrail before I lose my balance. If I couldn’t get my hand up, or there wasn’t a handrail near me, I would just have to lean on the others around me. This is normal, but I hate it. I hate being forced to rely on other people for support, and I’m not just talking about the train…

The doors close, the fresh air is cut off and the weird but unique swimming pool smell of the Chuo line aircon (possibly, never quite sourced that smell...), mingled with stale salariman fills my nose. For the next five minutes, if I am lucky, I will not be able to move. If I move, it will be because someone else fell. I hold on for dear life against the swaying of the train and the shifting weight of the people as we careen along past houses which become businesses which become tall buildings and department stores.

We cruise up to the platform, a million people are waiting to get on. Most of the people behind me want to get off. We gradually stop. We are still moving but everyone behind me starts pushing to get off. Suddenly the doors jerk apart and we burst out; the old lady stepping nimbly away, me on the other hand trying to get my feet under me properly and away before the people behind me bowl me over completely and trample me into a bridge between the carriage and the platform.

When Sartre said “Hell is other people.”, I don’t think he was aware of the Chuo line experience. Fortunately I only have to go thru some version of this 4 evenings a week. Some people do it morning and night, 5 days a week, for hours…

• h. said on 05/05/23 at 11:15 PM.....

  thinking about having to take those trains for 40 years of working life is enough to turn someone into a bitter person…

  explains a lot.

  
  once a day is about all i can handle - but hurrah for ladies cars (even if they are a misguided attempt at trying to sweep a problem away without actually solving it…)