Proof That Karma Is Real!

Fear not my legions of Grumpy followers (33) for although I have been silent for a couple of weeks or so, I have not deserted you. I know you may have been losing sleep at night worrying about it. Rest easy now for I have returned.


The subject of this post is somewhat of an esoteric one. You see, I have witnessed Karma. Karma is indeed real. I can vouch for that.


Karma is the energy of equilibrium. The idea that you get what you give. Give good Karma and receive good Karma in return. Give bad Karma… you get the point.


So I grabbed my morning coffee, the caffeine kick I have come to rely on in the mornings and headed for the train. Having boarded the train I strolled down the aisle looking for a seat. Now I usually like to be the social assassin at times because some people deserve it. I’m talking specifically about people who feel they have a right to occupy two seats at once using one seat for their bag, rucksack, handbag, whatever. I usually aim for them and take the seat forcing them to move the bag.


I wasn’t in the mood for this kind of thing so instead I opted for a vacant aisle seat next to a small man reading a newspaper. On Virgin Train carriages there are tables every now and then. One of these tables was just across from me and I could see a woman sat near the window with paperwork strewn over the table in front of her. Her handbag sat on the seat next to her. Perhaps she was doing some work. Perhaps she was studying and doing some homework last minute like I used to on the school bus.


Down the carriage came a young chap. He had bedraggled hair and a bit of a beard. He was carrying a small brown paper bag. He was either an alcoholic or had been to the shop on the train. It was too early to tell which.


He approached the seat next to the lady doing her homework and asked if he could have the seat where her bag was. I had my earphones in listening to a TED talk, but even so, I could hear her dramatic sigh and looked to see her rolling her eyes and shitty attitude whilst grabbing the handbag and placing it under her legs. Her face looked like a bulldog licking piss off a stinging nettle.


Did she buy two tickets that morning? One for her and one for her bag? Probably not and yet people seem to catch the train and think they have every right to take two seats. They then pull faces and get the arse ache when they’re asked to move their bag.


It’s like when people sit in seats that are reserved and despite clearly saying reserved, the dickhead will still chance it and sit there rather than look for a seat that is available. Because we’re British, we do have a tendency to be too nice and I regularly witness the awkwardness of the person who has found their seat with some miserable, inbred, inconsiderate, Troglodyte and their fat arse warming the seat, only to have to say, “Excuse me, I believe that’s my seat?” with the tonality of their speech going upward as if to be asking a question and whilst showing the ticket to the Troglodyte to prove it. This is then followed by a big sigh and attitude from the Troglodyte whilst they have to stand up, all eyes glaring at them as everyone knows they’ve been caught out. They then have the walk of shame. The person with the reserved seat is way too nice if you ask me. But that’s the British way I guess.


This would be a perfect time to be completely rude to the person sat in your seat. They deserve it for the bare faced cheek of it in my opinion. “Oi! Troglodyte, you’re in my seat, F*ck off! Can’t you read it says reserved?! Move you’re shallow gene pooled arse somewhere else you inconsiderate, rancid scum bucket!” Despite the politeness of the one who belongs in the seat, that’s probably what they are thinking. But you have to be careful not to arouse the Troglodyte into a physical confrontation, that thick, dense skull is designed to be take hits to the head to protect the minute brain inside.


You may be getting the vibe from me that I detest these people. I do. I don’t even have a reserved seat!


So back to the woman at the table. She has her little, completely unnecessary strop aiming her negativity towards this young chap who just wanted to sit down. She starts to get on with her homework and the chap sits down next to her.


This is when I witnessed Karma and as it went on and on I felt more and more warm inside.


The woman suddenly stopped writing, sat up and turned her head towards the window. Her hand raised and she placed her first finger under her nose. Why on earth was she pretending to have a moustache because she probably already had one, I thought. But of course, as I looked at the chap sat next to her, at his blank, vacant expression on his hairy face and I noticed that he appeared to be trying to create dreadlocks, I realised that although he didn’t really look that dirty, he must have been giving off a little bit of a whiff.


The act of placing a finger lightly under the nose is supposed to be a way of trying to deal with the smell with some decorum but it’s actually really obvious. You may as well shove a sock up each notstril.


It’s a credit to her amazing resilience and grit that she managed to focus her mind at the task at hand. Perhaps she was able to use some of her brain power to shut out the smell or perhaps she opted to breath through her mouth but she carried on with her homework.


It’s not easy to concentrate on a train. There are a number of sources of sounds and potential irritations around you along with the swaying of the carriage from time to time. I watched with glee as the woman suddenly stopped again, unable to concentrate as our Greenpeace, tree climbing, swampy activist friend reached into his crisp paper bag, the cracking sound of the paper creasing louder than you’d expect, and pulls out a Bounty chocolate bar.


If ever there was the need for a taste of paradise, this was it. Bounty’s come in two individual halves. Swampy threw one half in whole and proceeded to chomp away with his mouth open. The chocolate and coconut taste of paradise slopping around in his mouth resembling underpants in a tumble dryer. The slapping and squelching sound as his mouth opened and closed was like something you’d expect from a Bull Mastiff. Shortly afterwards the second half went in and again the chomping, slopping and spectacle began again.


The woman looked uncomfortable. I was enjoying this.


With some small flakes of coconut caught in his beard, he reached into his paper bag again. Again the sound of crinkling, crisp paper bag cutting through the background sounds of the train and even the TED talk I was listening to. Slowly his hand emerges from the bag with …… a Snickers. This really was the breakfast of champions. Chomping away with half asleep eyes, mouth open, nuts, chocolate and caramel sloshing around in his mouth completely oblivious to the woman sat next to him, looking on with a slight panic on her face about how long she would have to endure this.


It was obvious that she now felt dirty and wanted a good scrub down with bleach and a wire brush. She caught me grinning but I tried to pretend it was something I was listening to that was making me laugh.


The feast continued as he threw his second wrapper onto the table next to her homework and reached into the crinkling paper bag for a third time. This time, he pulled out some sort of nut bar and again the carnage commenced. This time, some nuts did manage to escape his mouth and they took shelter in his beard alongside the coconut flakes from earlier.


Casting the wrapper away he reached in for a fourth time and pulled out….. a packet of biscuits. The woman looked on in dismay. She was trapped. It was brilliant. A finger under her nose like a moustache, her eyes glancing from his hair to his open mouth, to the wrappers on the table, back to the open mouth as he forced a whole biscuit most of the way in and proceeded to chew with crumbs tumbling and cascading, down his hairy chin and into his lap.


This my Grumpyans, was Karma at it’s best.


I had to get off the train whilst his onslaught of the biscuits continued but I fell prey to Karma too. Probably for getting so much pleasure from that woman’s anguish. Later that morning, I discovered that some Starbucks coffee had dripped down the front of my shirt leaving several small stains. Later that day, whilst eating my sandwich, some beetroot escaped and landed on the left side of my shirt. I looked like I was wearing the shirt used as a “Before” example in a washing powder advert. I felt like a tramp.


Karma people, Karma!


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