honest to blog

The incident happened on an evening train journey back to Clayton which involved me sitting at the far-end corner of the train and a group of *hesitate hesitate* people made up of an around ten-year-old boy, a middle-aged man with a big bottle of beer, another middle-aged man with a big bottle of beer and a middle-aged woman with yet another big bottle of beer. They entered the train from Caulfield station. For your information, they talked inconsiderately loud. But I was too sleepy to even get irritated.

And so I was there, sitting quietly, minding my own business….when this group of people started whispering to each other (yeah, boy became eager messenger)…this went on for quite a while that I started to notice it…something really clicked, however, when someone (the woman, I think…can’t really remember) quipped, “Why would you wanna ask her? She looks stupid.”

Errr….

A session of several “Go on, ask her…” and “You ask her…” followed.

Brain processing….

The guy sitting beside me took the leap, “How do you find (insert-a-supposedly-famous-name-here)?”

It took me a while to realize that he was actually talking to me, thus, a move that might have actually confirmed their early shared theory, “Sorry?”

“How do you find (insert-the-same-name-placed-above)?”

“I…don’t know…*mumbles*” and therefore, shared theory had been christened “law”.

He didn’t stop, “You watch footie?” headshake, “Rugby?” headshakes, “Soccer?” more headshakes.

Another guy popped in, “So what sport do you like?” with a look that said “You look stupid and you don’t like sport…how come you breathe?”

I answered, “Tennis…”

He asked, “Who’s your favourite player?”

I answered, “Roger Federer…”

He replied, “Yeah, well, he’s the number one player right now…I like Andre Agassi, his shots are (or did he say “were”? not sure…) beautiful, man…”

I nodded and stood up; breathing a sigh of relief and a thankful prayer for whomever built Huntingdale station while Mr. Sport Smartypants kept yapping about tennis yadda yadda yadda.

Door opened and I bid them the happiest farewell ever, greeted with another farewell greetings and uproar of laughter.

Moral of experience:

• You just don’t call people “stupid” when you involve an underage (and that includes a ten-year-old) in your drinking spree
• You just don’t call people “stupid” even when you think you have the upper hand being in a group and stuff
• You just don’t call people “stupid” and go on to mention some freaking athlete name just to prove yourself right
• You just don’t call people “stupid” … you just don’t … especially when you don’t even know the person

And as for me, I never sit at the far-end corner of a train anymore…