Nina Saeidi can pinpoint the exact moment she knew she wasn’t destined for a normal life. She was 23, sardined between three or four sweaty commuters on a packed 8am Northern Line Tube train in central London, six months into a corporate job she hated. She was wearing the same fatigued expression as just about everyone else around her, staring into the distance as another day of the grind loomed. And then, a man died on her.
“It was so dramatic!” she says now with a nervous chuckle. “It was rush hour, so it was so crammed that when he died, he couldn’t actually hit the floor. He just slumped on my shoulder, pooped his pants, the whole shebang.”
