Terror On The Tube

It happened at Acton Town.   I was on a Piccadilly Line train on my way to Heathrow to meet a friend who was arriving early evening on Friday.  I'd left town early to avoid the rush hour crowds, because as I have mentioned before I hate crowds.  My strategy proved successful.  I was in a carriage with only fifteen or twenty people on board.

The train came to a stop in the station.  A couple of passengers got off.  And, then he boarded.  I think it was something about the way he looked around, eyeing up a number of seats before choosing one.  What ever it was, my fellow passengers' faces showed that they were nervous.  You could tell they were hoping he wouldn't sit next to them.  I knew I didn't want him next to me.

He chose a seat opposite me and next to the only woman in that half of the carriage.  The doors closed  and the looks on everyone's faces transformed.  They weren't nervous anymore.  Terror now filled the train.

The man opened up...

He opened up his mouth, that is, and spoke!

Piccadilly Line Underground Train at Acton Town

No one knew what to do.  I mean, it wasn't just a simple 'Hello'.  He actually tried to start a conversation.

Everyone knows that on the London Underground that just isn't done.  You simply do not talk to your fellow Tube travelers.   Sure it's OK to ask directions or ask if you're on the wrong train, but a part from such necessities, conversation is a cultural 'no no'.  Even people who know each other rarely speak on the train.

However, as this overweight fifty something Brit in his blue work polo shirt squeezed into his seat, he decided to point out to the African woman next to him that he was having difficulty fitting.  She belly laughed in that way that only large African or Pacific Island women can and said she had a similar problem with the seats.  Then she tried to go back to her silence, but he wasn't having any of that.

Mr Mouth had decided to make a stand for social interaction.  He was single handedly going to change London Tube culture by getting people to talk to each other.  He said to the woman, who was now staring at the pole to her left, that the fact that no one talks to each other on the Tube was a shame.

"Life's too short," he said holding up his hand and pinching life down to almost nothing between his thumb and his forefinger.  "We should talk to each other more.  I know, we British don't talk on the Tube, but we should.  Life's too short," he carried on.

The guy on my left tried to hide behind the thin pole between us.  The Middle Eastern guy wearing dark sunglasses to my right just kept staring straight ahead.  The Indian guys standing with their suitcases down the back smiled nervously and were clearly hoping Heathrow wasn't far away.

Mr Mouth carried on talking at the woman.  She was from Nigeria, but had lived in Ghana.  He had travelled the world and been to Ghana, but not Nigeria.  The self made tattoo on his arm made me wonder if perhaps he'd been a sailor.  At one point he looked around the carriage and said to the woman, "See.  No one will talk.  Look at them.  No one."

That was when I made my mistake.  They say you should never look them in the eye, because it draws their attention.  I did worse, I smiled.  And that was the end of me.  It drew his attention.

It was my turn to be interrogated.  I resisted at first, giving one word replies and trying not to encourage him.  But, I didn't want to be rude.  That turned out to be a serious character flaw.  Mr Mouth wondered aloud if I'd remembered when things were different on the Tube.  Not that anyone ever talked, but there used to be buskers on the Tube, he said, especially on the Piccadilly Line.  He wanted to know if I remembered them and the music they played.

Mistake number two followed.  I said, I'd only lived in London for a few months.

"Where are you from," he asked.

"New Zealand."

"New Zealand?  I love New Zealand.  I've travelled the world and New Zealand is my favourite place," he announced.

And, from there, in no time flat, he and my fellow travelers had my name, where I was born, why I moved to New Zealand, what I thought of London, where my English and Scottish ancestors came from.  He learned the latter by going on about how I needed to visit Scotland.  He used to drive a truck, had seen all of the UK and I had to visit Scotland he said.  I'd said it was in the plans, because some of my family had immigrated to the US from there.  Where, when and why followed.

When I told this story to Rob he laughed saying, "I'm surprised you didn't give him our address."

It wasn't funny, because I had, well not the whole address but enough for a stalker to find me.  I assured Rob, though, that I hadn't given him our bank account, PIN or telephone numbers.

After a few minutes, Mr Mouth tired of me and tried moved on.  He went back into how it was good to talk on the Tube because life's too short.  He turned to the young Indian guy about three empty seats to his right.  The Indian guy made the mistake of smiling too.  Mr Mouth announced to the carriage, "See he understands.  You understand me, right?  Life's too short, isn't it?  We should all be talking to each other.  See he understands."

Since that guy was smarter than me - he just kept smiling - Mr Mouth tired quickly.  He moved on to the Middle Eastern guy next to me.  Mr Mouth commented on his sunglasses - good for hiding behind.  No response.  Then he asked him were he was from.  No response.  He carried on.  Finally, the guy just turned and told him he didn't understand what he was saying.  Smart answer!

Mr Mouth assured the carriage he wasn't drunk.  He just wanted to make the world a better place.  He had exhausted all of the potential conversationalists nearby him at this point - except for the guy on my left who was hiding behind that very thin pole, which surprisingly had worked for him.  Mr Mouth tried calling out to the people down the other half of the carriage, but they were far enough away to pretend they hadn't heard him.  They had, of course, because people just don't spend that much time looking in only one direction and in their case that direction just happened to be away from where Mr Mouth was proselytising.

An Eternity from Acton Town to Hatton Cross

Mr Mouth turned his attention back to the Nigerian woman.  He asked at what station she was getting off the Tube.  She said Hatton Cross.  He said he was too.  "Uh, oh," gasped the travelers in silence.

Next he asked her where she lived.  She wasn't as concerned as the silent majority because she told him thus and such road near the KFC.  He knew it.  He said, "So you'll be taking the 285 Bus then?"  He'd been a bus driver in Hatton Cross we learned.  This woman was clearly taking lessons from me, because she replied that that was indeed the bus she was taking.  I'd like to think I wouldn't have gone that far in not being rude.

Even Mr Mouth decided he may have gone too far with that question.  He assured her that he would not be taking her bus.  He was heading to the pub.  Then home for a curry.  She was having fish and chips.

We were almost at Hatton Cross by now and Mr Mouth leaned across the aisle to shake my hand.  He'd enjoyed our conversation.  "Life's too short.  We should all talk to each other more.  It was good to meet you and enjoy your time in London," he said.

Then, as he stood and prepared to leave, he turned to us all and said, "You'll all remember this trip.  Won't you?"

He wasn't wrong.  The train came to a stop.  Mr Mouth and the Nigerian woman got off.  The doors closed and you could feel the relief from the survivors.  We all smiled.  There were a few chortles, shared looks of relief and a very few comments shared - as people do when they share a traumatic experience.

And, then, the carriage returned to human silence.