The bus shifted and I held on tightly to Evie’s stroller while simultaneously balancing the Richard Scarry book on the window so that she could, using the labeled picture of a pig in his underwear, identify her own eyes, ears, nose, etc. as we made our lumbering way home. Suddenly, yelling erupted in the back. The woman sitting next to me, who smelled slightly of urine and had muttered profanities at me under her breath a few minutes earlier when I asked if she would move her bag off the seat so that I could sit with my child, whipped around to check out the action.
‘I’m just saying, why don’t you give the lady your seat?!’ yelled the first man.
‘I don’t need to get a bloody lecture on politeness. If she wants my seat, all she has to do is ask me, IN ENGLISH, if I would mind letting her sit down!’ the second man spat back. Then he sarcastically asked the woman in question—IN ENGLISH-- if she would like his seat.
When there is an angry altercation in London, I’ve learned it’s best to pretend like it’s not happening. If you are unfortunate enough to make eye contact with some of the super angry people who ride around this city on the buses and tubes, there is a good chance that their anger will be directed at you. So, Evie and I happily continued to identify her body parts. But I couldn’t help but notice how miserable everyone on the bus looked…and it wasn’t just because they weren’t enjoying the fight going on at the back of the bus.
I have never lived in a city so full of rage filled people as London. I used to think that people in Boston were angry, but once I got used to their accents, I realized that they just sounded angry, but were, generally, a pretty happy lot. Yes, they honk their horns more than necessary and anyone would get in a bad mood during the kinds of winters that they have endure every year, but I can’t remember a time when I was in Boston and felt like the people around me were scarily angry. New Orleans also has its fair share of angry people these days, but I would say they have a right to be a little bitter after the horrors of Katrina and the more recent oil spill fiasco. Still, they are pulling themselves up by their bootstraps and that’s the attitude that prevailed when I lived there, too.
But in London, people are just pissed off and I can’t figure out why. It’s a beautiful and prosperous city. The weather gets a little rainy, but the winters and the summers are mild. They get incredible benefits from the government including healthcare. They have good public transportation. They have international respect. People come from all over the world to live here and visit.
One afternoon, on the bus, Jim happened to glance over at a guy who was swearing and gesticulating with his group of friends while his small daughter sat next to him. Unfortunately, Jim made the forbidden eye contact and the man pounced, unleashing a tirade of insults, asking Jim if he ‘fancied’ him, threatening to kick his ass. Wisely, Jim stared out the window and pretended like he couldn’t hear the guy, but inside he was terrified. Knife crimes are rampant in London and Jim was debating whether or not it would be safer to stay on the bus (where everyone was also pretending like nothing was happening, including the bus driver) or to get off. Either way, he could count on the fact that no one would help him if the guy and his friends decided to jump him. Luckily, they lost interest.
Another morning, early in my second pregnancy, Evie and I were walking to see a friend when a car came flying around the corner. We were in the middle of the street and the driver pulled as close as he could without hitting us and then proceeded to berate me for half a block, calling me a stupid blind cow and some horrendous obscenities before peeling off down the street. I was shocked that someone would be so aggressive towards a mother and her baby who were innocently crossing the street. Actually, I was shocked that someone would be that aggressive towards ANYONE and it ruined my morning. It did provide me with an opportunity to tell Evie that some people aren’t very nice. As usual, she happily chattered away, oblivious to the situation and I reflected on how lucky she is to have lived a life so far during which no one has ever been mean to her.
When I mention to friends that someone was nasty to me on the streets of London, they usually have stories of their own. One friend was hit by an obese woman’s cane repeatedly until she gave up her seat on the bus. Another, struggling to get off the bus with her baby and no one to help her was berated by another passenger for pushing instead of being offered assistance. I have watched teenaged boys throwing food at people passing by and no one did or said anything due to the fear of being stabbed. When Jim and I heard a couple in the throes of a fight the other night, we crossed the street. I witnessed five people walk past another couple, as the man slammed the woman up against a wall and hit her. I called the police, but not until I was well out of sight.
Living in London has, for the majority of the time, been a joy. We have had incredible experiences and happy times and by the time we leave we will have had two children here and made some of the best friends of our lives. But there is this underlying feeling of anxiety and unhappiness that the city projects. We will miss it here, but we won’t miss the anger.
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