Tube Lies

I was sitting on the Northern Line this afternoon when a young bloke and his girlfriend got on at Old St, it was medium busy. They moved to two empty seats and just as they flopped down a pretty girl, sitting nearly opposite, who'd watched them closely since they got on sort of half screamed, half belched "Stephen!!". (I'm going to refer to the young bloke as Stephen from now on, I never found out what his girlfriends name was)

Stephen understandably looked a bit bewildered initially, as you do when confronted with a tube nutter, but then, with an expression that was a mix of comprehension and terror, he plonked himself down on the seat in the frank realization that he was sitting down, stuck on the tube, with his new girlfriend, looking at his old girlfriend, and that there was absolutely nowhere to go. (I know she was his old girlfriend from the conversation that folllowed).

So the old girlfriend and the current/ex boyfriend exchanged pleasantries, in that typically British way that says nothing outwardly and everything inwardly until she got off at Camden. To be fair she looked very Camden, sort of mix between douche and hipster, pretty sure that the Ray Bans she had on were clear rather than lensed. Anyway she's not important, I have a Camden pleb rant planned for the future. The current/ex boyfriend and the definitely current girlfriend sat in silence before the definitely current girlfriend asked her chap, loudly, as if to avoid any chance of him fudging an answer in front of so many captive witnesses (or to her mind possibly jurors), "SO that was Charlotte, she's slim? I suppose you think she's prettier than me?". WHY DO YOU GIRLS DO THIS?

This is the moment dreaded by all men, you are put on the spot, in public and asked to declare your love, or at least allegiance, to your other half, in public. Again this happened in public, in front of other people, and strangers no less.

Every single man in earshot stayed silent, but throughout the sub-ether gentlemans communication network there was an audible "oompff", as if we shared a collective kick to the guts and then a slight release of the pressure as individually each bloke realized it was them in the hot spot and settled in for the show.

There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on, and on, and on a bit more. The collected men, now avidly watching the drama unfold from the protective cocoon of the early edition Evening Standard (smashing feature on property prices in Palmers Green incidentally) were urging Stephen to say something, praying he'd do something soon, before the awkwardness surrounding the couple enveloped the rest of us and meant we'd have to start talking to our respective partners.

Then Stephen started to move his lips, and like watching a child take it's first steps, we could see the inspiration hit, illuminated Stephen knocked the awful question out of the park, "Not really, she's agorophobic"..the girl looks confused, "yeah" says Stephen "Absolute fucking nightmare anywhere but the tube".

The blokes in the carriage communicated silently through the ether again, "well played sir, well played".