The slightly-too-loud commuter

On Thursday night I took the train home.  I was in the end compartment of the carriage, where the seats are against the walls and facing in, with two other passengers.  In one corner, opposite me, sat a man reading the Daily Telegraph.  To my left, in one of the end corners, sat a young woman (mid-to-late late 20s, I guess) engaged in a long and fairly detailed conversation with a female friend.  It was difficult to ignore: I didn’t bother to take out anything to read, and I doubt if the man opposite was making much progress with the Tele.

The conversation (or at least, our end of it) went something like this:

Did he treat you well? He treated me well…he gave me nice presents…I liked the way he looked after himself. I like a bit of a metrosexual…I just can’t understand…if he was so angry, why didn’t he?….[and much more of the same]….

I’m OK. I have my flat. I go to see my family. They just say “get over it, get over it”

At this point, I caught the eye of my neighbour opposite, and rolled my eyes and my head to the rhythm of “get over it, get over it.” He cracked up and immediately had to hoist his newspaper to conceal this from our companion, even though she was oblivious to our reactions. It was almost time for me to get off, but for the next minute or so he and I kept exchanging grins and glances as the woman on the phone went on and on. Once outside the carriage, I was free to exchange one more and less discreet grin as the train moved off. I guess you had to be there, but it was very funny and also one of those nice moments of bonding with a total stranger.

On Friday morning, D and I took the bus into town from Annandale. Also waiting at the bus stop was Craig Reucassel of The Chaser, with a kid I assume to have been his son, aged about 3.

After the usual double-take, D and I studiously ignored them whilst a woman who came a little later to the bus stop engaged the smaller Reucassel in the usual “aren’t you sweet” small talk.   D (who, for those who came in late, comes from China) observed to me “That’s Australia. He’s famous. Why can’t he take a taxi?”

The bus was crowded, and more by the accident of having got on at the same stop than any design, I eventually found myself sitting next to Mr Reucassel, who was sitting at the window with his son on his lap.

D, who had remained standing, got off the bus and turned to wave at me from the street. Reucassel fils, accustomed by his age and cuteness to friendly greetings from strangers and unaware that D’s wave was aimed at me sitting in the same line of sight just behind him, waved back at D. His father and I exchanged a little chuckle at that.

The title of this post is thus my tribute to my small brush with fame.

3 Responses to “The slightly-too-loud commuter”

  1. Legal Eagle Says:

    I did laugh at the beautiful segue in this post. The Chaser is right. The worst is when you’re on the train and you have to hear someone talking very loudly about something like their sex life or a gruesome medical problem. I find it very embarrassing. But you’re right – you can bond with other passengers over it.

  2. Club Troppo » Missing Link (delayed, again) Says:

    […] funny post on the “too-loud commuter” by Marcellous with a Chaser […]

  3. Daniel Says:

    Once, on a bus, an attractive female fell asleep and, for the duration of the journey, her head lay upon my shoulder! Was this a kind of bonding? Was she treating me with contempt, a mere human pillow? Should I have asked for her phone number?

    Life is full of mysteries!

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