Jez & Maggsy – The Big Man On The Train

There’s this dickhead who catches my train in the morning and he’s a big bloke and he gets in everybody’s way. He’s a really really big guy – he’s fat with a beard that makes him look like he’s some sort of sea captain from a little kid’s story, and he’s tall too, so tall that the fatness doesn’t seem so obvious, because his frame is really huge (the skeleton on this bloke must be absolutely massive), but he does have a gut, a really big gut, and he’s got big legs, thick things which I suppose aren’t fat, they’re just solid and wide all the way up and down, and his arms aren’t fat either, not really, come to think of it, but they are chunky and red and there’s a tattoo of an anchor on one his forearms, and his skin is red in general, the colour of sunburn, a sort of angry pink, and he smells quite a lot, and he doesn’t look like he has a shower very often, but the smell is a strange smell, sort of like the smell of those pink musk sticks you used to eat when you were a little kid, lollies I mean, and it’s a bit like this guy is one big fat musk stick man, although obviously he isn’t.

It’s a crowded train, the train I catch, and there isn’t any extra room, which is what crowded means when you’re talking about a train, and people are right on top of each other, very close, because they have to be, and you’ll quite often find a small woman with her nose basically squashed into the side of a taller man’s chest, pretty much right into his armpit, and the train’s a sweaty place anyway and smells can’t really get away, and you just really feel sorry when you see that sort of thing but there’s nothing anyone can do because there’s nowhere else to go and you’ve all got to go to work. And so you just cop it. You try not to stand on anybody’s foot and you try to keep your balance, if you can’t get hold of one of the handles, and you just hope the trip will be over as soon as possible.

But then musk stick man gets on, and I didn’t already say this but he always has a very big Army coloured sports bag kind of thing. It’s khaki and it has two handles and it’s full of stuff, soft stuff, which could be clothes or something like that, but it’s really heavy, as I know from experience because this bloke practically dropped the thing onto my foot the other day and from then on, for the rest of the trip, it was leaning against my legs and I wanted to make it rest against somebody else’s legs, but I couldn’t do that, and it was so bloody heavy. And you can’t talk to this bloke. If you say anything to him, and I mean anything, he does this ridiculously big smile at you and says, “Good morning!” with an American accent, and turns on the iPod he has in his pocket, and it’s turned up loud and it’s yodelling music.

Thankfully he doesn’t catch my train in the afternoon.

Maggsy says I shouldn’t call him a dickhead. She says I should try to be understanding. That we should make allowances for people who don’t have the advantages we’ve had. And it’s true – you never really know who might be mentally ill and what people have been through. But this individual – this man, this person, this fellow – well, he’s not mad, he’s just an arsehole.

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Published in: on February 10, 2014 at 7:10 pm  Leave a Comment  

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