London, city of arses.

Wikipedia states that the estimated population of London in 2010 was 7.8 million.

I was pondering this morning about that large number of infinitely diverse faces, and how I’ve barely seen any of them. From the moment I step out of my door, I am ushered, begrudgingly, into a queue of other mindless workers, making their way to their own workplace. We walk in step, mere feet behind each other, not one breaking stride, towards the nearest train station.

As I walk, all I see is the backs of suits and blouses, backpacks and satchels, and an endless sea of arses. Arses, arses, arses.

It doesn’t get any better when I’m on the train. I sit down on my seat, and all I can see is the back of the seat in front. Turn my head to the side to see what I can see, and lo! it is the arse or crotch of someone standing in the aisle. As I switch to the tube, I go up and down escalators, raising arse levels up to my face, or lowering people down far enough that I can count the dandruff on their scalp. When I finally make it to the tube platform, I stare forwards until the train arrives, I board, and again I am presented with arse, crotch, or, for extra spice, I get to see armpits!

Finally, the walk from the tube station to the office and I finally see the faces of reception, beaming at me. FACES!

This morning one receptionist asked why I was so happy when I burst in through the doors. I wasn’t sure if I should tell her it was because, after drowning in the ocean of 7.8 million arses, I was glad to see her face.