Coming home on the tube I passed two guys and heard a snipped of their conversation.
One mentioned that it took him an hour and a half to get to work in the morning, the other replied that an hour and a half wasn't too bad.
Not too bad? What the fuck are these guys on?
An hour and a half in the morning, an hour and a half in the evening. Three hours of your life every day spent transporting yourself to and from the place where you toil away in order to make somebody else wealthy.
Three hours a day, fifteen hours a week (assuming you don't do overtime on the weekends). That's 690 hours a year (assuming six weeks holiday). That's almost twelve percent of your total waking hours. Twelve percent of your life spent shoved into a can surrounded by sweaty miserable people as you travel through the bowels of the earth looking forward to another day of misery for the benefit of whatever cunt happens to own your company.
Not too bad? If I'd been true to myself, true to life, I would have crushed his balls. As it was I merely continued on my way.
