It was a regular weekday commute on the Jubilee line, heading toward London Bridge. The train hummed steadily as I settled into my seat, ready to zone out for the journey. That’s when I noticed something unusual—a faint beat of music cutting through the usual train sounds.
The melody was subtle at first, but undeniably catchy. I glanced around, curious to see who had the excellent taste to share such a playlist with the entire carriage. My first thought? This is pretty good. I like this.
As the train rolled into the next station, I found myself nodding along, my foot tapping to the rhythm. It was like the soundtrack to my morning, setting the perfect tone for the day.
By the time we reached the next stop, my thoughts had shifted slightly. Alright, this music is great, but surely headphones exist for a reason? Does the entire carriage need to hear this playlist? I began to wonder about the unwritten rules of public commutes and whether this mysterious DJ had missed the memo.
Then it happened. A quick glance at my phone revealed the truth.
The music wasn’t coming from the person opposite me. It wasn’t even from someone nearby. It was coming from… me.
Somehow, my phone’s settings had switched, and I had been unknowingly treating my fellow passengers to my carefully curated playlist. In an instant, amusement and embarrassment collided.
I couldn’t help but laugh (silently, of course). The irony of nearly asking the person opposite me to “turn it down” hit me like a crescendo in one of my favorite songs. Thankfully, I hadn’t started singing along or made any snide comments about public etiquette.
As the train approached London Bridge, I quickly corrected my settings, my face a little warmer than before. But I couldn’t shake one lingering thought: At least I have good taste in music.
Sometimes, life throws us small, humbling moments that remind us we’re all human. This one just happened to come with a great soundtrack.
