🎅🎄🎁
The Piccadilly line was overcrowded, stuffy, and packed to the brim.
The mission of all aboard was to travel from point X to point Z in order to make it the nick of time before the commencement of the epic festivities.
This was also the mission of Samantha (Sam), whose point X happened to be Harrods and point Z happened to be the cedar dining table at her family home.
In response to the boiling temperature, Sam had proceeded to unwrap the serpentine coils formed by the grey woollen scarf bordering her neck. Her right hand was already occupied in the effort of clutching a soft-cover version of Ursula Le Guin’s ‘A Wizard of Earthsea’ and couldn’t undertake another object, so she smushed the plushy snake deep into the handbag that was conveniently located between her thighs. She was wearing a skirt and the chafing of her newly pudgy legs was beginning to reach the threshold of discomfort.
“Fucking hell, gotta chill on that pecan pie,” she thought.
What made it worse was that the hotter it became, the more adamantly the droplets of sweat were pushed up out from her pores, deluging the parts of her that had so far remained dry. Understandably, Sam’s thoughts also began to sour, leading her to the realisation that she would need to take off some of her outer clothing in order to remain a comfortable level of cool and sane for the remainder of the journey. She was about to remove her headpiece when the underground carriage came to a halt.
Sam the Scarfless now lurched forwards, tripping over the metallic legs of one of those pullable shopping carts she had found to exist only at her grandmother’s.
“Hey watch out, there’re four M&S Christmas Puddings in there. Those damn things’re worth more than my grandson’s student loan!” yelled the elderly man while shaking his fist and deepening the furrow in his brow.
Once Sam had regained her balance and adjusted her glasses back to a desirable position, she observed in horror as not one but two of the babies in the weather-proofed carriage began to bawl.
“Nat and Jasper, just please hush. It’s alright,” said the father looking slightly desperate and speaking in his best comforting tone, trying unsuccessfully to avoid betraying a twang of annoyance.
The thought of kidnapping one of the babies and bringing him/her home with the same cedar dining table she was headed towards flitted through Sam’s mind.
“Shut up ovaries, you still have most of your best life left to live,” she mumbled to herself.
“Mum, what’s going on?” asked the Santa hat wearing boy of his mother seated beside him.
“I dunno honey, let’s just hold tight for now, I’m sure it’ll all be resolved in just a moment,” she replied in a comforting tone.
“Don’t hold your horses lady, I’ve heard of this sort of thing before. One second your speeding along and next thing you know you’re smack bang in the middle of a fucking bomb threat,” piped the same old man whose carriage Sam had recently tripped on.
“Don’t listen to him darling, he has no idea what he’s on about,” the mother remarked to the child, who had by now bowed his head and was looking a bit sad and suspicious. It was upsetting to see a child on Christmas eve so obviously devoid of holiday spirit.
“Hey everyboddyyyy!” slurred a 20-something dressed as a reindeer. Sam noted that the young woman in question had gone “all out”. There was even a soft plastic red nose to complete her look. Based on the effort she had put into her getup as well as to her accent, Sam came to the conclusion that this wannabe Rudolph was definitely American. There was in fact factual basis underlying this assumption as the girl was Mitzi, an affiliate student from Indiana State University doing a semester abroad in London. While the rest of the American affiliate students had gone back home for the holidays, Mitzi had decided to stay with her new “European friends” who unbeknownst to her kept her around mostly for the sake of their entertainment. Now Mitzi was so drunk that her eyes wouldn’t focus on the tube map she seemed desperately to be trying to decipher. It is maybe needless to say that the day after this ordeal she would regret not having gone home over the holidays.
“Who caarreess if we stay here for Christmas, I got some drinks and gingerbreeeed… ” Mitzi boasted, whipping out a box full of decorated gingerbread-men whose features had been made up to be eternally jolly, notwithstanding their true circumstances. The issue was that the gingerbread box had been ill-engineered to not feature enough structural integrity, meaning that many of the men had been cut in half or otherwise disfigured. Mitzi didn’t seem to notice and grabbed a handful of sugar coated heads. She was soon munching loudly away, disrespecting the cultural norms of her co-travelers in every way possible.
No one replied and tried their best to look away. The situation was almost as embarrassing for Mitzi as it was for the rest of the passengers. It was Christmas; wasn’t this kind of thing to be reserved only for New Years?
But Mitzi wasn’t left hanging. The response came from one wearing an ugly Christmas sweater that Sam couldn’t tell was to be taken seriously or as a joke. Due to the unbashed confidence with which the lady was wearing the atrocious garment however, Sam held a rising suspicion that the sweater was being worn with grave sincerity.
“Let’s sing a Christmas carol, that should cheer us up” said the ugly sweater with a high pitched intonation. Her red cheeks had become an even deeper shade of crimson that now matched the berries stitched onto the underside of mistletoe featured on her sweater.
“Save it for the pub Tannon,” sneered the one seated next to her. Tannon’s friend was was also wearing an ugly Christmas sweater but seemed much less ‘Christmassy’ in the traditional sense of the phrase. In other words, the second sweater wearer was much less eager than the first to embark on a festive divulgence for the benefit of the strangers on this medially located carriage on the Piccadilly Line.
As the initial commotion began to die down, an air of desperation settled like the blanket of snow that had recently fallen on the exterior of the tube, creating a cold coating of restless anticipation to overly the consciences of the awaiting passengers.
“What if we run out of air?” asked a particularly sensitive and stressed out seeming lady. This had been the first phrase she had been able to muster between the ghastly sobs that had escaped from her mouth and that had fortunately been aimed towards her gloves.
“That’s unheard of. The air down here’s pretty dirty, but I doubt we’ll run out of it,” responded her husband, who didn’t sound very sure of himself.
The usual announcement began to play on the speaker:
“This is a Piccadilly line service to Cockfosters….”
Then, without warning a tune that was equal parts festive and eerie (or perhaps slightly more eerie than festive) began to percolate out from the speakers:
“Here comes Santa Claus here comes Santa Claus, right down Santa Claus lane…”
The lights shut off.
🎅🎄🎁
WAST WRTNG 