I like taking subways - its travelling in comfort. The only comfort being the fact that I don't need to do anything but enter and then exit. That sells it for me. It’s the only mode of comfort I need. As a kid I used to watch my folks driving whilst trying to keep me and little brother from causing mischief on the back seat as well as concentrating on finding the best music station for their personal needs. It all looked like way too much responsibility for me. Aliening myself to the subway was logical.
Today I am presented with options -- on the platform there are a couple of ruffians with hoods, a gentleman with a suitcase looking all executive like in a nice suit(a look I might go for sometime - I like it), a lady with a baby with a pram...avoid her at all costs. I don't want to be the smuck who's left to assist her carrying the pram up the stairs at my stop (if she even gets off there). With things like this fate always seems to call my name. So when the train comes I make sure I move away from her to get on another carriage. I do this with subtlety so that she doesn't notice.
My journey is spent opposite a juvenile who is hell bent on playing 'music' via his iPhone for everyone. You know, because he's so cool and thoughtful and considerate and all that. Rather than take pleasure in his ingenious discovery, that his quasi-mobile device can play very bad music with no baseline, he chooses to look directly at me - minus blinking. An ability I rather envy but can’t say appreciate.
I ride on the train to be inspired and get new ideas. It’s a bit like travelling across the world to 'find myself'. But half-heartedly. Like I do with most things I don't truly believe in. Speaking of finding myself, I hadn't heard from her in a few days. We'd normally contact each other every day. She's just as stubborn as me -- neither of us want to back down....maybe she's found somebody else to lavish her attention on. Maybe she thinks that's I've found someone else to lavish MY attention on -- this thought makes me smile to myself, forgetting the juvenile across from me who is playing a unreciprocated staring game with me. He blinks, finally, in a dismissive way. Most likely his way of showing annoyance at my smile that was misdirected.
I hate HUMANS on public transport they become pariahs. Like Zombies. No emotion, no communication. Once they get off any mode of public transport they're back to normal! What is this phenomenon? For a while I think about writing a movie with this as a premise – I ponder if it's a little too close to a film already made? Hmmmmm. And for my next thought...I again ponder (I like that word), passionately (and that word), and worry about the mother and the pram -- I hope that she doesn't get off at my stop.
She does. Great.
Head down, I head directly for the stairs, not making eye contact with her. Trying to hide between the scores of people around me.
"Hey!" She says.
To me?
"Hey!" She says louder.
I walk.
Almost on the stairs..."Excuse me!" she belts out.
Yup, she's talking to me. Why? Out of everyone. Why me? I am forced to stop my escape.
"Hello?" I enquire innocently.
"Did you hear me? I called you three times." She says, annoyed almost.
"Sorry...I have a hearing issue."
"Hearing issue?"
"Yeah...an issue with my hearing?' I reply, unconvincingly.
"Okay, sure. Listen can you help me? It’s the stairs and the pram thing..."
I look around at the people around me, it’s like they stopped just to watch me carry a pram up the stairs. I try and get out of the uncomfortable situation.
"I can't, it’s my back."
"Your back?"
"My back..." I say nodding sympathetically to her plight.
"You...seem okay." she replies, again unconvinced. By now, everyone is standing around – inhaling the conversation. Piercing eyes all around me -- waiting to judge me if I don't help. I am left with no choice.
"Okay...I mean it’s not that many stairs, I can probably help."
"Gee thanks. How nice of you." she says flatly.
After that seems like 1000 steps up, I place her pram and baby at the top.
"There you go."
She pulls a blank expression, "Well thanks, after I had to practically force you."
"Hey, well I helped." I reply loudly.
"Yeah after a mini debate..."
"MINI DEBATE? That was NOT a mini debate. A mini debate would be me saying to you that Hitler's regime was good moment in history and then you arguing against that....that's a debate."
Her face and skin flushes out to a pale white, "Hitler?" She shouts out almost in a state of shock, "I'm Jewish."
A silence falls. Those people who just about got over the fact that I didn't help her instantly originally now almost physically penetrate me with their eyes. The silence lasts a while longer.
"I will not stand here and take these anti-Semitic remarks."
I back peddle, "They were not anti-Semitic remarks....I was just saying..."
"Do you know how many years of persecution the Jews suffered?"
"No." I say with a degree of purity.
"No? No?? What do you mean no?"
"No, I meant I don't really know how many years....I mean, I know it was bad, but I don't know..."
"You're an idiot!"
A spectator, probably someone from a dinner party that I've pissed off previously, adds their intelligent view: "Complete idiot!"
"What do you do for a living, idiot?" The mother asks, patronisingly.
"I'm a...I'm a writer." I mumble.
"A writer? I'm contacting your publishers. I’m going to complain about you."
"You know what that's a good idea, here's my agents business card." I give her my agent’s shiny card with pleasure, "Call him on his mobile."
"I'm so offended by this whole ordeal...I want you to apologise to me immediately."
"Ordeal? Ordeal? This is not an ordeal...an ordeal is...."
She interrupts, "What's an ordeal? Being in a gas chamber?"
"NO! I didn't say that!"
The same spectator again interjects, "That's really disgusting. I can't believe you said that."
"Apologise right now." The mother demands...
Out of the blue, I am defended by the gentleman with the nice suit, "Excuse me can I just say, this man, he helped you up the stairs nobly. Everything else that was said after that has NOT been as bad as being portrayed here."
"I want him to apologise." She argues.
"Lady, he's not apologising to anyone." He puts his arm around me and walks me away slowly, to a chorus of abuse from spectators and the mother.
Who is this suited angel? His suit, so clean, his teeth so white. Hair so perfect. He reminds me of a classic Hollywood star of yester-year.
"Don't worry about them." He says with an assured voice, "They are political correctness gone wrong."
I agree with him with a smile and shrug of the shoulder. He continues, "That whole situation was like a witch hunt."
"Definitely."
"Hey you wanna grab a coffee?" He asks all too enthusiastically.
I pause for a second...who is this guy? Whoever he is, he's my hero...a coffee with my hero can't be bad....although I hate coffee. It'll have to be a hot chocolate. My hero, he saved me from having to accept responsibility. I love him.
Who is he?
No comments:
Post a Comment