Enduring the daily commute to work via train sometimes has its unusual perks. Note that such events as haggard homeless men vomiting and sly-looking skinny men with hollowed-out eyes eyeing you up and down no longer register as interesting incidents after your fifth train trip in Sydney.
During a particularly packed train commute which required most of the passengers crowded into the carriage to get a little intimate with each other, one man obviously was looking to take advantage of the situation.
‘Crap, sorry,’ the man apologised as he performed a commendably false action of falling into an attractive woman’s chest.
‘That’s okay,’ the chest dismissed. Or it seemed to, because that’s where the man was looking. The woman looked awkwardly around and decided to turn her back on the man, instead facing me.
Obviously intent on continuing conversation further than a swift apology, the man seemed to be searching very hard for a topic to discuss.
After a moment of intensive thought, he came up with ‘So are you going to work, then?’
‘Yes,’ the woman (coincidentally wearing a uniform with a giant Grace Bros department store insignia) sighed. The man nodded, having confirmed she elected not to wear these clothes simply for style.
Stupidly, the man continued: ‘So wheredya work, eh?’
‘Grace Bros,’ the woman sighed. She rolled her eyes at me, and I shrugged. I wasn’t keen to rescue her from such a conversation. Beginning to feel awkward, I began opening my bag in hope of pretending to expect something in there, but halfway through this the train lurched to a stop. I didn’t fall over, but this was due to the fact that the woman’s chest blocked my fall.
She looked up at me wearily, as if she was tiresome of all this attention her breasts seemed to be receiving. I was bursting to announce to her that I was gay and her breasts really were of no matter to me, but social circumstance did not really permit.
The man sensed he wasn’t the centre of her attention and quickly resumed conversation. ‘I work right near Grace Bros, you know,’ he assured her.
‘Fantastic,’ she flatly spoke.
‘I make sandwiches. You should come along at lunch so I can make you a sandwich. I work in the Centrepoint food court,’ he directed. ‘A sandwich, on the house,’ he added.
‘Well… I’m lactose intolerant,’ the woman grasped for excuses. Alas, this was not to disillusion the romantically-struck sandwich hand.
‘Salad sandwich? No problem,’ he grinned, revealing a spectacular smile largely liberated of teeth. The train wheels, as if on cue, made an enormous screeching sound as they traversed a sharp bend in the tunnel which seemed to mirror the expression on the woman’s face.
The woman pouted. ‘I’m not going to be working in the city for too long, you know,’ she attempted to dismiss.
‘Oh?’ the man suddenly seemed quite worried.
‘I’m changing jobs,’ she winked at me. I smirked, nodded, and tried to keep from falling into her chest again as the train lurched into Town Hall station.
‘See, you know what your problem is?’ the man counselled. ‘You’re changing jobs too much.’
‘What?’ the woman absently questioned, not really caring.
‘You should stay in your job at the city,’ he carefully trod, eager to keep her near to his sandwich job. ‘Stop changing jobs. Not healthy for you. See, I’ve had the same job since I left school in year 10 and I’m quite successful, really,’ he assured us both.
‘Oh really,’ she said. ‘So what about you?’ she turned to me.
‘Um?’ I quietly asked. I hadn’t been too sure if I was included in this conversation or not.
‘Do you change jobs often?’ she elaborated.
‘To be honest, I got laid off the other week,’ I explained. ‘I’ve got work until the end of the month, but I’m looking for a job still.’
That the conversation had been turned over to me seemed excruitatingly unbearable to Sandwich Man. ‘So will you come out with me this Friday?’ he blurted.
‘I don’t know,’ the woman quickly replied. ‘Would you go out with me?’ she continued, diverting her attention to me again.
‘No,’ I automatically responded, thinking of Adam. Suddenly her facial expression turned somewhat sour, and I realised I’d probably hurt her feelings somewhat.
‘I’m gay,’ I explained. The man’s face lit up as he realised he was in.
‘Fantastic,’ the woman replied. ‘Because I am too,’ she said directly to the man’s face.
An awkward pause ensued before the man found the courage to speak up again.
‘So you can come out this Friday?’ he asked hopefully. The woman sighed and repeated herself.
‘Look. I’m gay. G – A – Y. All Enid Blyton’s fault – I’m sure George from The Famous Five had some sort of adverse effect on me, but I don’t do dick. Do you understand?’ she spoke slowly.
The man visibly appeared to be visualising her in sexual relations with another woman. ‘Yes, that’s all fine; but you and me? Eh? Friday?’
‘Fuck off,’ she spat.
‘Fine,’ he angrily spoke in reply, and disembarked from the train.
She looked at me and thanked me. ‘I’ve missed my stop, but I didn’t want that jerk following me around. You didn’t have to say you were gay though,’ she laughed.
‘But I am,’ I protested.
‘Sure, sure,’ she giggled. ‘So are you single?’ she continued.
‘No,’ I innocently responded.
More laughter. ‘So what are you doing Friday night?’ she asked with apparent seriousness.
I wondered if falling into her breasts had been such a good move, shrugged and turned towards the other side of the carriage.