Human roadblocks

Every morning when I go to work and head home at the end of the day I have to pass through the train station, along with the stream of commuters. Inevitably there is at least one person, sometimes a group of them, standing in the middle of the flow, like a boulder disrupting the tide of humanity causing disruptive turbulence and impeding the progress of this river of people.

It could be one person stopping to adjust their laptop case, gawking at some billboard or, worst of all, talking on their cell phones. The groups decide to stand in the middle of this torrent of people and carry on a conversation. None of these people give a damn about how they are damming the current of progress, they are so self-absorbed that they have to satisfy their immediate needs right there and not move out of the way.

This morning, some self-important numb-fuck decided he had to take a call and stopped right after stepping outside of the station’s door. His fat ass, majestically coated in a beautiful cashmere coat, blocked the doorway while several hundred people tried to pass through. Guess who was the lucky person immediately behind John Q. Dipshit, Esq.? That’s right, yours truly.

I attempted to skid to a halt so I wouldn’t run into this human manure pile and maybe perform a stutter-step end run around him but there was no room to maneuver. Then the people behind me caught up.

I was propelled forward into Lord Fuckemup. The collision made me spill my coffee, mostly on myself, some on the ground and, to my great amusement, some hit his coat.
He turned on me with the righteous indignation typical of both lofty executives and recently mainstreamed psychopaths (groups with a great deal of overlap).

“Watch where you’re going!” he yelled at me. “Look what you did to my coat!”

For one of the few times in my life I was able to respond appropriately.

“Don’t block doorways, asshole, and you won’t have that problem,” I replied as I walked away.

He wasn’t content to leave it, though. He had been wronged and wanted justice.

“What are you going to do about my coat?” he demanded.

I looked over my shoulder and calmly said, “I’m going to laugh my ass off.” Then I continued on.

So, to all of you who insist on standing in the middle: move your fucking asses! You are a bottleneck and hazard! Either do your business while you walk along with the rest of us or get out of the fucking way! If you have to take a shit do you just squat in the middle of your office? No! You go to the appropriate place. Well, standing in the middle of thousands of stampeding commuters is the wrong fucking place to be.

If you are incapable of walking and talking at the same time you should either:
a) step aside so people don’t have to jockey around you and risk tripping, spilling drinks and possessions, or bumping into some other poor schmuck who’s trying to avoid you; or
b) be taken out and shot for being a nuisance to humanity. You will not be missed.

You are a hero amongst imbeciles.


If I were the OP, I’m not sure I’d take that as a compliment.


Frontier justice isn’t what it used to be.

I agree with the entire OP, but the main reason I posted is to say that “Lord Fuckmeup” will now be my insult of choice towards self-righteous boneheads.

I considered ramming his cell phone up his ass, beating him over the head repeatedly with his fine leather briefcase until he lost consciousness and then pissing on his bleeding body, but I was already late for work. Besides, if I did that it would have caused a gapers block and slowed down the other commuters. I’m a very considerate person.

Probably fortunate that John Q. Dipshit wasn’t armed, or we might be reading about this in the news rather than on the SDMB.

Wholeheartedly agree with the fury at clueless stopping/standing/blocking passage (I still boggle at morons who freeze at the top or bottom of escalators, or who decide to sit on the stairs as the human river cascades trippingly around them).

But to play Fuckemup’s Advocate for a moment, our train stations here (try to) prohibit food and drink, I suppose in an effort to prevent just such a moist and steaming collision.

Just to clairfy, is it Lord Fuck-me-up, or Lord Fuck-em-up?

Nevermind, either works for me.

Well, Lord Fuck-me-up is anyone who screws up my existence and Lord Fuck-em-up is anyone who screws up all of humanity.

erie, I sure wish you were around when I worked downtown. I would have bought you lunch, at least, had I been there.

Good on you, sir - good on you!

Bravo! Bravissimo!

(Or Brava! Bravissima! whichever is appropriate.)

Quick hijack. I was in the store the other day and saw a woman trying to retreive her keys that were stuck in the treads at the end of the down escalator. A man came by and said “wait, I’ll do that”. I thought someone’s going to lose a hand. Then I saw this man already had a hook for a hand and was using it to snag the keys. I looked for an emergency off switch but couldn’t find one, so I left before I could see any carnage.

No need to worry, then - he clearly had experience with this situation.

Guess he didn’t learn the first time :smiley:

Or, even better, the ones who decide the best place to sit is the middle of the escalator.

I don’t know if he was drunk or high or what, but I was just lucky I had enough warning that I was able to jump over him with only winging him on the shoulder with my foot. The people behind me weren’t so lucky (it was only a one person wide escalator, I was about 4/5 steps behind him but there were about 5 people stacked up behind me and he sat down almost at the bottom.)

I hate the human roadblocks and I try to be aware of where I am and what’s around me, moreso after reading a few of these threads.

Just a thought: Why aren’t the simple words, “Excuse me, please,” used more often?

Presumably because the answer would be “Not now! Can’t you see I’m taking an important call?”

Because there isn’t time. When Viscount Shitbrain decides to stop moving in a crowded train station right in front of a door (or, my personal favorite, directly in front of the bottom step of an escalator) you have perhaps one quarter of a second to attempt a manual course correction before crashing into said asstard.

Consequently, efficiency is of the essence, and “Pardon me, my good sir,” becomes “MOVE!

“Move your ass” takes fewer syllables.

I was saying excuse me as I tried to squeeze past His Royal Highness, the King of Asshattery. When I was pushed into him by the people behind me, I lost my temper. If he insists on being a pile of shit, he is destined to be stepped on.

I am one of those few people who actually says, “Excuse me” or “Pardon me” and I hold doors open for the person behind me. I try to be pleasant to strangers, use my turn signals when changing lanes and say please and thank you. But this guy’s attitude was so pompous and imperious that it just grated on me. It was a big Fuck you from the Flying Fickle Finger of Fate when my cuppa joe splashed his Versace outerwear. I hope it stained his Bruno Magli’s, too.