Strange man on a train

A little story about a man on a train last Wednesday evening.

There I was sitting in my usual spot in the over-crowded first carriage Ashford-bound from Victoria, reading Bill Bryson's 'A Short History...' and ignoring my neighbour and two other people standing in the aisle who were also reading it.

Somewhere around Bromley, the train emptied a little bit to just about full up, with a handful of new people joining us. One of the new people was a rather aesthetically pleasing young man carrying an open tin of lager and the remainder of a four-pack.

Many ladies on board appreciated the scenery with sly looks - he was, after all, in his mid-twenties, blond-haired and blue-eyed with a pleasing face, and rather nicely tanned muscles - the type acquired on a work site, not a gym - shown off with a sleeveless t-shirt and snug jeans.

Many people also raised an eyebrow at the lager. But he wasn't behaving drunk, and many of those same people liked to have a mini wine now and again on the train - especially on a Friday.

The man sat across from me in the only space left and proceeded to finish his can off while frowning at his mobile phone. The immediate opening of the second can caused raised eyebrows to be accompanied by disapproving frowns. And then his phone rang. Clearly it was a friend. The only side of the conversation that was audible went something like this:

"No, I can't make it, I'm going back to mum's."
"Yeah, I know, but I lost my job, so I can't come out, I've got to sort something else out."

Raised eyebrows and frowns melted instantly away to sympathetic nods and the odd maternal 'poor lamb'.

Apparently his social network contained many tom-toms, for as son as he'd finished that call, another came in.

"Yes, that's right, I lost my job. I got sacked."

Suspicious looks abounded.

"I had an argument with the foreman. It's been coming a long time, I don't like him, and he doesn't like the way I work, and it came to a head."

Suspicious looks replaced by lots of sympathetic nodding and the odd paternal 'brave man, arguing with the boss, takes a lot of guts to do that these days.'

A few other phone calls of almost exactly the same nature occurred, followed by peace and people getting off at various stations. And then, as we were headed into the Maidstone area, he received a string of text messages.

He started swearing as he read them. Under his breath, and followed by a general apology to the carriage, but that was okay - he was clearly having a really bad day.

At Maidstone, the carriage emptied and it was just him and me. He spent a while trying to get a signal as we passed through tunnels and a narrow cutting, and finally made a connection.

"Hi mum, I'm on my way home, I lost my job."
"Yeah, well, I had an argument with the foreman and got the sack."
"Well, I didn't go back after I walked away, but I'm assuming I've got the sack."
"Well, I might have lost it a little bit with him."
"No mum, I might've hit him."
"Yes, mum, but your idea of losing it a little bit and my idea of losing it a little bit are vastly different things."
"By the way, the old bill will probably turn up."
"Because I just got a text to say the old bill had turned up to work."
"Well, I did hit him. And it might have been more than once. Or twice."
"Oh, I'm not worried about that, I'll only get six months custodial at most."
"Mum, it'll only be six months, not like last time!"

And at that point we came into Ashford and I was off that train and out the door faster than you could sneeze.