Creeper gotta creep

Public transport is a great democratiser. The rich, the poor, the strange and the normal will all eventually find themselves traveling together cheek by jowl in metal oblongs. But in the case of public transport ‘all walks of life’ includes not only the walkers but skulkers, shufflers and worst of all creepers.

Chances are if you caught public transport and have a vagina* you’ve been creeped on public transport. You'll be sitting on the train, minding your own business and you’ll suddenly discover that the seat next to you has been filled by the kind of dude you’d usually cross the street to avoid. He’ll sit next to you and start doing something wildly inappropriate, absolutely disgusting and frankly confusing, thus rendering you really uncomfortable.

Me and my sisters have had my fair share of creeper experiences. Dingo once had a dude talk at her for a solid hour before grabbing her hand and licking it. She stood up in the middle of the carriage and shouted ‘this man is licking me! Somebody please help’ and no one did anything! I got stuck on a broken down train with a dude who just got out on prison who began reading Anne of the Island over my shoulder, out loud. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to think this kind of stuff is not on.

It doesn’t help that we are conditioned to be a bit skittish these days. A stranger asks me the time and I’m already making a fist with my keys. However, with a creeper there’s usually something, a crazed look in the eye, a prison tattoo or a peculiar smell which sends a clear message ‘this dude is a not someone I wish engage with’.

Maybe sometimes we’re over reacting and misconstrue a friendly conversation as a prelude to cutting off our head and putting it a plastic bag. Clever creepers know this and use this against us. You say to someone ‘I don’t wish to be rude but I don’t feel like talking, I’m reading my book’ and they accuse you of branding them a rapist just because they were being social.

Whilst everyone is entitled to the benefit of the doubt, and a person could be made awkward by personality, situation, social ineptitude and emotional health, the point is that you know when you feel venerable or consider behaviour inappropriate and you have every right not to put up with it. We all should be allowed to say no, we should be allowed to keep our personal space personal and we should be allowed feel safe.

If you wish to escape the clutches of the creeper, the following tactics should work;

-Pretend not to be able to speak English. This one is chancy as it is completely foiled if you phone rings, if they speak the language that you are pretending to know or if you are with a mate. Actually, that works better, cos if you insist that you can’t communicate with the creeper but continue a completely normal conversation in plain English with your friend they may just get the jist that you aren’t interested in how they lost their hook hand in a turkey factory.

-The Jenna Marbles face.

-Call a friend and have a conversation about how you’re being made really uncomfortable by this guy sitting next to you on the train and yes, he does smell like rotten vegetables and wee and absolutely, you’re calling the police as soon as you hang up, but just in case you are carrying your Taser today.

-Come prepared with something like a book, laptop or headphones.Even better if your headphones are obviously not connected to anything.

-Change carriages. I know that this is not really fair, as we have as much right to be in a space as they do without being made to be uncomfortable but if it’s a choice between your safety and peace of mind than making a point that may easily be missed then just move.

*look this is from my experience. I'm not saying that all dudes on trains are creepers or the all creepers are dudes on trains. I am especially not saying that it's only dudes that creep, I have been creeped by ladies too, and I also know a couple of dudes who have been creeped upon. My point is that these sentiments are fluid... suspiciously warm, beany smelling, mysterious fluid.