So, after a weekend away on my
brother's Stag Do, I'm in a pretty good mood/grieving at the fact
that I am, in fact, getting up to go to work rather than preparing
for a day of drunken rampaging. But still, we plough on.
I'm not hungover, but I've got that
tired feeling. I'm already dreading not taking the day off, but
again, doesn't matter now, back to the office chair and, you know,
caffeine will help.
I waltz down the road and onto the tube
I hop. Well, I say hop, it was more of a begrudging lunge over the
dreaded gap we're constantly told to avoid. Probably a good call
though.
I manage to lean on the same spot I get
most days, headphones in and check the work emails to cut the
workload for when I get in, standard procedure for Monday morning.
But that's when irritation kicks in, and that's not even the emails.
A man gets on, must be mid 50s, old
laptop bag and Bran Flakes. I have nothing against Bran Flakes, but I
was already unsure about this guy. What was it? His face, his shoes, the way he'd positioned himself on the carriage, his suit, I dunno, but something didn't sit right.
Due to natural spacial awareness, I've
already analysed the carriage. There are a few regulars, middle-aged
woman, couple of hipster-esque characters and two women either side,
both mid-20s, reasonable levels on the attractiveness chart.
So, in the centre of the carriage, the
man I am unsure of starts talking to one of the girls and instantly,
she doesn't seem to appreciate it. He puts his hand on her arm and
starts talking in her ear. I'm already a little sceptical, and with
my tiredness at the levels they were, it was irksome.
Someone exits the train and a seat
becomes vacant, which the man (creepily in my opinion) offers to the
women. I'm thinking he'll then leave her alone, but no, he leans
over, hand by her head and gets what I would consider to be, a little
bit close. The woman, still seems pretty damn uncomfortable and my
blood is boiling a bit, wondering why nothing is being done. But it's
Monday morning on the tube, people don't do things I suppose.
Thankfully, he then pulls away, a
little relieving but I'm obviously not happy with what's occurred,
first thing on Monday, insane.
He then, walks across to the other side
of the carriage and starts talking to the other girl. At this point I
am fuming inside, the tiredness has clearly taken over and the music
I'm listening to may as well be on mute as I'm now fixated on this
ridiculous man. Outraged at the lack of action not being taken,
outraged that he thinks this is ok and basically my head is spinning
like never before.
He steps towards her and starts talking
in her ear, at the angle I've got I can't see her expression, but by
this point, it was just getting too much.
And that was when I did something out
of character, I'm a pretty laid back kinda guy, I avoid confrontation
like the plague and listen to ambience and jazz at the weekend. But
this guy was in my head and, absurdly, confrontation seemed like the
only option.
I leant over, shoved him in the arm and
said in an irate fashion:
“Excuse me mate, but is this what you
do?! Do you go around hitting on every woman you see? On a Monday
morning? What the hell?!”
An unusual feeling overcame me,
slightly of elation but more of intrigue of how a man would respond
after being accused of such a thing.
He looked up at me, firstly aghast, but
then with a slight chuckle, and simply said:
“These are my daughters.”
Shit.
A combination of about 80% relief and
20% embarrassment then occurs, but in confusion, I just shouted:
“Thank god for that!!”
Headphones in, as if nothing had
happened. But it definitely had. Awks.
