“Never fear, I am HE!”

You know those times on the tube when step on to the platform and you see your train is still there, with the doors wide open, beckoning you inside.

Then you see the timetable screens ‘flashing mind the doors’ and you hear the bleeping noise signalling that the doors are about to close.

You panic.

Do I risk limb and life to get on that train? Do I feel lucky? Am I a punk? Will I get hurt? Or will I just get humiliated and pretend like I didn’t want to get that train anyway?

I’m sure us commuters have had this discussion with ourselves before, as you do.

But this guy, this brave, brave soul, wasn’t afraid of the rejection.

He wasn’t even fazed by the potential pain. He casually strolled up to the doors as it bleeped.

“Stay away,” it warned, “stay away!”

But just as the doors began to close, the guy seemed to switch into super-human mode. He seemed to say to himself in a deep voice: “I… have… the… power!!!” And he used his bare hands to try and hold the doors open.

There was a gasp.

“Will the mighty doors crush him?” were the words from everyone’s lips. Well, at least that’s what the looks on their faces said.

They (and me, obviously) looked on in total awe as the man in a white T-shirt with bulging muscles (well, sort of) pushed those doors back and strolled on, effortlessly.

My hero.

I’m guessing it was a ‘you-had to-be-there’ moment. Whilst tired.

Well, I need to keep myself entertained somehow on my commute to and from work. Fun times.

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“Sandwich man!”

You know those days when you suddenly wake up to the incessant sound of ringing in your ears, or in my case quacking.

You feel groggy. Your eyes eventually readjust to the luminous red flashing lights of 06:20 glaring at you. ‘Get up’ it says, ‘get up’!

You realise it’s Monday morning. You groan, and you quickly proceed to press the snooze button, or, as in my case, you reset your alarm to half an hour later.

As a result of those extra winks in bed, you rush around like a headless chicken getting washed and dressed.

You manage to gulp down some sort of hot beverage (a hot chocolate for me), and then run to the bus stop with lots of pauses in between to catch your breath, of course.

You just about manage to get on the bus at said bus stop and then you make your ‘merry’ way to the tube station to join your fellow gloomy-looking commuters on a packed tube carriage.

Once everyone reaches their appointed destinations, like a throng of zombies, we slowly walk towards the barriers to take those dreaded steps to work.

As soon as you reach work, the obligatory small talk with your associates about the weekend begins. It’s a clumsy, yet well rehearsed, short dance routine. Yawn.

You then go through your monotonous work duties. You’re amazed at how quickly you slip back into that mode as if you never even had two days off at all.

Nevertheless, time seems to run at a snails pace as only 10 minutes have passed, and counting.

…But wait, you hear the elevator bell ring, and in anticipation your ears suddenly develop an acute sensitivity, listening for the faintest of sounds.

Drat, it’s only the postman making his delivery. Next time, you hope, next time…

You listen out for the next person to make their entrance from the elevator.

Then, then, when you had given up all hope, you hear a high-pitched voice exclaim “Morning! Sandwich man!”, and it has the same sort of pied piper effect that the music from an ice cream van has on children. And me.

Good news!!! He is the bringer of all things junk and potentially artery clogging to all men (and women). But more than that, he is a welcomed pause to an über long morning.

The curly-haired short man with his basket of goodies marks the promise of the long-awaited lunch break, and maybe, just maybe provides a glimmer of hope to the treasured home time, which glistens in the distance.

We are pretty much halfway through the morning till lunchtime, hoorah!! Yes, I can see that light at the end of the tunnel, I can SEE it, my son!

But alas, when he comes at 10:50 something, because he is late, as per, this still only signals that there are another 2 or so hours to go until that glorious hour-long break.

You only started at 9. Oh joy…