Finger-eating Train

I recently moved house (well, flat) and I now spend 50 minutes going to work, most of that spent on RER A.

RER A is a strange line - apparently it's the busiest line in Europe, and as you see people pouring on the train at La Défense you can easily believe it.

I saw a guy yesterday who tried to keep the doors open with his kid's buggy. The aforementioned child was still in the buggy and nearly got squashed as the guy tried to get on the already packed train. Normally I would say that people should have moved, but seeing as there'd been an "accident grave de voyageur" the train was heaving. There was no room to make any more room. So the guy wasn't stubborn, but just stupid. In fact when he gave up, his wife (who had been standing on the platform in horror, unable to do anything as there wasn't any room - spot the theme?) tried to wrestle the buggy from him once he let the train go. He was pissed off as he couldn't get on the train, and she was pissed off as he'd just try to flatten their child between two train doors.

And getting trapped in the train doors is no fun! I recently got my fingers trapped in the doors on line 1. You know they show you a cartoon of a little bunny looking surprised because his fingers are trapped, well, that was me. But the little bunny isn't saying "jesus f$*king christ!" which is what he should be, as it hurts like hell. A friend works for the SNCF and told me I was lucky I didn't get a finger ripped off.

So, the little bunny should really be shown with blood spurting out of his hand à la Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and the notice should say "Be careful not to get your fingers ripped off by the doors." Perhaps this would make people pay more attention.

The only reason I managed to get my fingers back intact was that I was so tired when they slipped into the gap by the side of the door (extreme fatigue was my excuse for my lack of attention that the doors were in fact opening and fingers should be moved immediately) that they went straight in before I'd even realised.

Then they started hurting a lot, and boy did I realise then!

I considered pulling the emergency brake but if I did that they would have left the doors open, and I just wanted the damned things to close.

I was proud of myself though for not even squealing, and instead giving a fine example of British stiff upper lip ...

And now I no longer stand anywhere near the doors.

Just in case they remember me as the one who got away and try to get their revenge.