There are two types of people in this world...

The helpful type, and the douche type.

Let me begin this story with a bit about myself: I hate public transportation. Especially the TFL. It is dirty, crowded, boiling, unreliable, and an all-around miserable time. I also happen to be one of those anti-car freaks, so the only solution in the city is to bike. I bought the ugliest purple mountain bike with butterflies on it (thinking nobody would EVER steal it) from the sketchy bike dealer in Brick Lane. They probably actually stole it..

Anyway, this evening I was supposed to bike from the gallery I work at in South London all the way West to a cousin's flat in Notting Hill for a relaxing dinner at the end of a long week. I had planned out the route, timed it, and was excited to explore some new bike lanes. But as fate would have it, the second I got on the bike, my back tyre popped. Nothing makes a girl feel fat like her bike's tyre popping under her weight. Weight which, btw, is actually quite light with all the biking I do!

I desperately tried filling the tyre with air at the gas station across the street, but seeing as I live up to every stereotype of a woman, I couldn't figure out how to pump a tyre. So a lovely trucker helped me out, but, like a doctor telling a mother her newborn baby has died, he told me the tyre was gone. Yes, it was really that dramatic.

In a panic I ran my bike over to the nearest tube, thinking I could just give in and make it to dinner on time without a fuss. In Berlin, tons of people brought their bikes onto the trains - in fact, there was an entire car devoted to them! Well, not so in London. I was told that the only mode of transport with a dying bike I could take was the overground train. After a few minutes of route planning, I decided the easiest thing to do would be to take my poor bike to London Bridge, where I knew an Evans Cycle would be open until 8.

To get to the train, I had to lug my bike up three flights of stairs, with some extremely helpful TFL workers standing around watching -possibly enjoying- me struggle.

Getting on the train and then off at Waterloo was no problem. Waterloo is one of few stations that is actually wheelchair accessible, so the elevator and ramps made it a breeze. Getting on the train at Waterloo was another story. The train was quite full already, but there was plenty of space for those of us waiting to get on. So I stood by the last car waiting for the doors to open so that I could haul my bike inside and be one stop away from freedom. As I stood there, a lovely British woman next to me said very audibly to her friend 'Oh she has got to be kidding.' If I wasn't so preoccupied with getting to London Bridge before Evans closed, I might have snapped back so hard she would have had a great story to tell all her boring friends in the suburbs she was heading to. Instead I shot her a death stare, tried to back my bike up into her just a enough to make her feel claustrophobic, and didn't hear another word out of her.

On the way out, a kind young man offered to carry the bike off the train, seeing as there is about an 80 foot gap between the door and the platform. I declined the offer but was overly grateful in thanking him - loudly enough for the British woman to hear.

The ordeal was not over yet. Leaving London Bridge station to get to Tooley street was a tad confusing for someone with a handicap - in my case being a bike. Signs pointed me in all directions to an elevator that really does not exist. Wheelchair signs led me to the underground station... The whole thing was thoroughly convoluted. So I went up to two, again, oh so helpful TFL workers who were having the chat of their lives and asked how to get out through an elevator or ramp. They gave me the same nonsensical, clearly false directions as the signs, and then one of them had the nerve as I was walking away to call out 'next time check the internet!' Ummmm is it just me, or would that have been a lawsuit waiting to happen if I was actually handicapped?! I have never empathized so much with those who cannot push and shove their way through a TFL station the way most Londoners do.

Three more flights of stairs later and I was at Evans, where their amazing staff saved me from a very long walk home. They even invited me for a free lesson on city biking. I was clearly looking frazzled and they possibly sympathized with the ugliness of my bike.

But there you have it - two types of people in the world. Those who offer a helping hand whether or not it was asked for, and those who live in their own bubbles and feel no need to contribute to the society or people that surround them. And by the way folks, you are welcome for me saving the air you live in every day by choosing not to drive a car, and you are welcome for me giving up a seat on the TFL, since I will never be using that again!