The Walk of Shame
The slow return of the added step to my commute into the office
Commuting into London isn’t the most joyous of experiences. Pre-covid, four days of my week usually involved horrifically overpriced, overcrowded trains and the general hustle of rush hour going to and coming home from work. It’s a pretty draining experience for anyone, but when you have a physical disability, it’s that much harder.
Since working from home has continued to be the preferred option for many as the world slowly starts to unlock itself — myself included — on the occasions I have ventured into the office, the trains have been relatively quiet which has certainly made the overall experience a little bit easier for me.
The number of commuters has begun to pick back up in the past couple of weeks and a few days ago on my way home, I had to partake in something I haven’t had to do since March 2020 and it’s what I refer to as ‘the walk of shame.’
A phrase often coined as being the walk one makes the morning after a one-night stand, in this context, I use it to describe the walk I make through a packed rush-hour train in the hope of finding an empty seat.
If you’ve never been to London or commuted on a daily basis via the British railway network, let me break down the unwritten rule of London commuting:
Nobody talks to one another
What that results in as I limp down the aisle of each carriage making sure my walking stick makes a louder noise than it should to try and attract some form of attention, is having to rely on making some form of look towards those seated to see if anyone will be kind enough to give up their seat — this process whilst wearing a facemask makes it pretty pointless!
A lot of the time, people will glance up, see me coming and then quickly avert their attention to their phone, a book or newspaper, or even just out of the window to tell themselves they didn’t see me. During the height of the covid restrictions, it was a rule of thumb that the seat next to you should remain empty to comply with the social distancing guidelines. Although the majority of restrictions have been lifted now in England, this particular one seems to have remained an unwritten rule, which I can understand why. However, it does of course mean on packed trains, there are even fewer seats available.
Now I hear you ask “James if somebody has a spare seat they're using to socially distance next to them, why don’t you just ask if they would be okay with you sitting there?” I guess there are two parts to answer that question:
- Partly being stereotypically British, we hate confrontation and are often far too polite to bother a perfect stranger.
- I walk with a profound limp, use a visible walking stick and wear a knee support on my right leg, quite frankly and without sounding like a dick — I shouldn’t have to fucking ask!
So, on Monday this week, after unsuccessfully doing my walk of shame through a number of carriages, I gave up, my legs were sore and the train was about to depart. So I sought refuge by perching on a bin in the gangway between two carriages. It wasn’t much help as I was still basically standing, I was leaning against the bin for balance more than anything. Here’s a picture of my stick whilst we were chilling on the bin.
Again, I hear you ask “But James, every carriage has a section of accessible seating and the signs even say you should give the seats up for those who need it?”
This is true, but again, just because it’s on a sticker doesn’t necessarily make it enforceable. If I were to ask somebody to vacate their seat, they could easily just tell me they weren’t moving. Then you get into the fear of confrontation again and if something progressed into a more physical altercation, I wouldn’t fancy my chances against someone able-bodied.
After around twenty minutes, we reached the first stop and luckily enough people vacated the carriage that I was in to enable me to finally take a seat. I happened to sit in the accessibility seats as it was the first empty row I came to. Looking across, it wasn’t hard to realise that others valued the needs of their luggage over that of disabled passengers.
He made an extra effort to try not to make any eye contact with me at all. I hope he felt somewhat guilty that I had stood for a long period whilst his bags took a well-earned rest in the accessible seats.
Not long after I sat down, an elderly lady appeared, having clearly done her own walk of shame after getting on at the previous stop. She turned and looked at me before asking ‘Is it okay if I sit with you’ to which I replied ‘Yes, of course, go ahead.’ — Perhaps she felt I didn’t look like the confrontational type!
Obviously, that was the only verbal exchange we had for the remainder of the 35 minutes we sat together, because like I said, we Brits don’t talk to each other on public transport.
I left the train at my stop and headed home safe in the knowledge that at least one less person had to sit on a bin during their journey home.
