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Light Me Up
I had reached saturation point at work earlier than usual today - I'd had enough and was impatient to get the hell out of there. Luckily the public transport system seemed willing to assist me in my mission to get home as soon as possible - the tram had green lights all the way up St Kilda Road; the train was waiting for me just as I arrived at the station, and it was an express - I was looking forward to a home-cooked meal in front of the telly in no time.
This train seemed to be really moving. Flying along the rickety tracks like a rollercoaster, I settled into my book and began ploughing through the pages, but something soon struck me as unusual about the ride. Not just the speed we were travelling at, something... smoke! I thought, I must be sitting next to a smoker. Sometimes you can smell the absence of where a smoker had once been by the stale odour in the air. I glanced left, right. No clues.
The smell got stronger, a suffocating cigarette stink... there!
Sure enough, sitting across the aisle from me was a bald, unshaven young man holding a newspaper in one hand to detract from the lit cigarette that he held in the other. His beady, paranoid eyes darted about the carriage, conscious of the fact that his illegal hobby was controversial, provoking. He seemed to be waiting for the first annoyed traveller to show some sign of anger - he was daring someone to challenge him.
Next to him two middle-aged women squirmed uncomfortably in their seats, visibly offended by the now filthy, permeating smell, but probably too frightened to say something, and too polite to get up and move somewhere else.
I am a pretty tolerant person. But cigarette smoke in a small enclosed area such as a train carriage really pisses me off. I thought it through: glaring at him with a frown of disgust I stepped through exactly how I would execute it:
Me: "Scuse me mate, can you put out your cigarette?"And that's where my heroic fantasy took an unpleasant turn and the realist in me took over. Instead of him relying with the ideal and easily manageable:
Him: Blank stare of incredulity, slowly turning into an amused grin as he sizes up his would-be challenger.
Me: "Yeah, apart from the fact that it's illegal, it is really bothering everyone else here"
"Sorry mate."and flicking his butt out of the window, I pre-empted all sorts of nasty outcomes:
Him: "Sure buddy" as he gleefully extinguishes the glowing cancerstick on my forehead.My anticipated responses weren't very encouraging. I glared at him some more. His gaze caught mine. It still had an amused smile and his eyes lit up at the prospect that I might have something to say...
Him: "Yeah, no worries" as he flicks the thing into my eye.
Him: No response, as he coolly stands up and blows a perfect ring of smoke into my face and then casually sits back down and continues to puff away.
Him: "Oh yeah? And who are you the smoke inspector?" as he slams me to the ground.
I quickly diverted my gaze. He threw his newspaper on the floor, leaned back and exhaled a long grey, foul-smelling breath that raced through the fast-moving carriage like gas through a stove, forcing its way up everyone's nostrils instantly.
Furious, I changed carriages at the next station to a fresher smelling carriage. But I had been rattled enough to lack the patience for reading my book any more, and sulked the entire ride home instead.
When I got home, my house mate smelled smoke on me and asked me if I had been to the pub after work.
Hardly.
| Posted by Matt at 09:58 /writing # |