Why I walk up the escalator

Those who catch trains to the city can be split into two groups, about 50-50 by my observation. One group walks up the escalator from the subway platforms, the other group rides the escalator, staring dead-eyed at the person in front of them. Sometimes someone from the latter group (who is either ill-informed or totally oblivious to the world around them) will ride the escalator on the right-hand-side, thereby blocking the passage of those who choose to use their legs. If someone wakes the rider up to his or her inconsiderate behaviour, they will try to shuffle aside and then offer a glare of incomprehension. It's easy to guess what that stare says:

"Why on earth would you want to walk up the escalator? What's so goddamned important?"

Now, as you've probably gathered, I'm a walker. I don't mind if people choose to ride, so long as they stand to the left, but I have a realy problem with that glare. So, to explain why I and all the others climb the escalator, I'm going to indulge in a little mathematics.

Let's assume that a walker arrives at the top of the escalators on average 30 seconds earlier than a rider. Most of us ride an escalator at least twice a day, so that's one minute. Your average person works five days a week, so now we have five minutes. This is then multiplied by 48, which is how many weeks we work a year. Calculating ... 240 minutes, or four hours. If a rider works for 40 years, he or she has spent 160 hours or more than six and a half days of their life on an escalator (which works out at much more when you consider we are usually only awake for about 16 hours in any one day).

So ... maybe if I was doing nothing with my life, maybe if I had no goals or aspirations, I would ride the escalator. But as it is – get out of the way and stick your moronic glare right up your back passage. Oh, and when you're on your deathbed, ask yourself if the escalator rides were worth it.

The Fearless Writer