Trains are where the weirdos congregate (Silvia)

After a time span of one year and one month, I have travelled on enough trains and observed enough specimens to gather sufficient evidence to prove this hypothesis. Allow me to recite two of many anecdotes to demonstrate why I believe trains are where the weirdos congregate.

Observation #1

I was minding my own business in the train when a guy with yellowy-orange hair walked in and sat next to me. I do not like associating with scary-looking people (Bez saw him on another occasion and remarked he looked like a pedo) for fear they will mug me. But he started talking to me and I did not want to be rude so I politely responded to questions. He chit-chatted about university, work and life in general which I found socially acceptable. Then he asked a most perplexing question.
“Are you Chinese?”
“Uh,” I said. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
He drew a vague circle around his face. “Your facial structure.”
I knew what he meant. It was easy for me to distinguish Chinese, Vietnamese, Japanese and the rest so I didn’t think much about what he said although it left me with a weird feeling.
“You speak Chinese?” he asked.
“Not really,” I admitted and hoped he would leave it there. Personal questions aren’t my thing.
“So you know some!” His eyes lit up and he began rummaging through his bag.
Don’t pull out a knife, not a gun either and hell don’t even think about a flipping taser, I thought.
It was a folder. He flipped it out for me to see—an application form for a karaoke bar that I had frequented twice (once to try, twice to confirm and never again because their service was sh*t). “Can you teach me? I really want a job at here.”
The employers there favoured Chinese people because… well, it’s a Chinese environment. I understood his predicament. However I didn’t care.
Paranoid, little old me was being asked by a freaky looking stranger to tutor him in Chinese. Yeah, mate, I don’t think so.
“My Chinese sucks,” I said with all the conviction I could muster. “I’d wreck your chances of working there.”
But he was unfazed and asked if I had other Chinese friends. I shrugged and tried to look like I didn’t give a damn about his employment issues but the next thing I knew, I he was giving me his number so I could text him if any friends were available.
But that wasn’t enough. He just had to go one step further.
“Prank me,” he said. For people who don’t know what that means, it means ‘call me so I can get your number’.
What was I supposed to say at that point? No, you dumb#%$! I don’t wanna give you my number or do you a favour. Go find your own bloody tutor, you insolent wretch!
Alas, my indignation wasn’t strong enough and he got my number. I did however think the situation was salvageable. I would never text him and he’d forget about me.
It didn’t work.
He texted me the very next day. And I gave him a curt, “THERE’S NO-ONE AVAILABLE SO DO YOUR INTERVIEW AND SUCK IT OR FIND ANOTHER JOB WHERE YOU UNDERSTAND YOUR BOSS.”
Okay, I didn’t use those words. Or write in caps lock. But the general message was the same.
Then he texted me again.
“No probs. My friends are going out for Korean bbq and I wanna invite you.”
That was the last straw. I met the creep ONCE in a train, at night, and he scared the crap out of me. Then he asked me if I wanted to eat with him and his friends. It was like I was being invited to a date-gang-rape thing.
My text was very short and to the point. “NO. SORRY.” And he has not bothered me since.

Observation #2

I sat in the train, grinning like a fool and bopping in time to the music in my head. I was free and had plans to go to the bookshop and buy the latest book in the Ranger’s Apprentice or Skulduggery Pleasant series.
A woman got on and sat next to me. It was weird because it was the afternoon and there’s no-one on trains in the afternoon, which meant many, many seats were very, very empty. I should have realised something was going to happen.
She asked my name and I told her.
“Sophia?”
“No…” I started but she already moved on about something else. I left it. it wasn’t the first time someone mispronounced my name.
The woman talked about a whole range of things like work, children, school, all the inane things people make small talk about. Then she dropped the bomb.
“Would you like to be a hair model?”
Excuse me? Me, a hair model? Lady, are you looking at my hair? It’s a bob. See, short at the back and longer at the front. If you cut it, it’s going to be short. Very short. And I don’t like having short hair.
“I train at a salon two minutes from Newport. You could come in sometime.”
“I’ve never been to Newport so I don’t know where it is. Sorry,” I truthfully said.
“That’s okay.” She took out her phone. “Give me your number and I’ll call you. When you’re free, give me a ring and I’ll pick you up in my car from the station.”
LADY, DID YOUR MUM EVER TEACH YOU NOT TO GET INTO CARS WITH STRANGERS coz mine sure did and I wasn’t going to disobey my mum.
All I could think about was the previous train incident with the creepy guy. I did not want something like that happening again.
The woman pressed buttons on her phone. “Your name was Sophia?”
Annoyed, I started, “N—!” Then I realised. “Ye-esss,” I said carefully and spelt it out for her.
“Your number?”
I panicked. How many numbers did a mobile have? I didn’t know. “Hang on, I’m always forgetting,” I lied. In my head, I was reeling off my number and out loud, I was reeling off random numbers. For future reference, a mobile has ten numbers.
“I’ll call you now.”
Another panic attack. If she called, she would find out my number was fake!
“NO!” I blurted. “My phone’s dead. Outta battery.”
She promised to call later and I said something vague in reply. When the train pulled up at the next station, I RAN off to catch another train home.

Nothing like that has ever happened outside of trains, therefore I stand by my hypothesis. I have decided to use a fake name and number if strangers ask from now on. It sounds paranoid but we all know safety is paramount 😀

Till next time,

Silvia