Thursday, December 9, 2010

Number one with a bullet

Today's train story is brought to you by Gosford station... just like every other damn train story I've ever written.

Typical afternoon trip from work to Gosford, we catch the relatively new trains, so everything is clean and the train noises are minimal. So as a common courtesy the commuters usually keep to themselves. This means that when someone raises their voice, or drops something, the entire carriage will look up at the person. As was the case this afternoon.

An older gentleman got on the train at Hornsby, with several bags and looking rather scruffy, it was clear he stopped caring about his looks many years ago. He sat towards the front of the carriage near me, so if I turned to the right I could see him and the 5 other people he sat with.

For 15 minutes he was just like every other passenger, he was quiet, kept to himself, and waited out the trip. Then he decided to talk.

To himself.

It started with some mumbling, but the mumbling quickly became louder and then he started to introduce hand movements. When he asked the girl next to him if he could.... smell her farts... people started to relocate. And I had trouble containing my laughter, he then boasted he was “pretty good at farts” and started scratching his groin with his hands down his pants. At least one would hope he was scratching, and not fondling.

He then thought it would be a good idea to start shaving his face, so he took out a razor and went for it, then he started flicking the razor around and throwing it in the air. So the rest of the people in that section moved, and a few in the section behind.

My breaking point lasted a bit longer. I didn't really mind his language, nor his grooming practices, but when he lifted his shirt up and started shaving his stomach, I made the decision that I had seen enough and moved down the stairs.

So what does he do? He fucking follows me now doesn't he?

Standing near the train doors he wanders to the left and right to look down or up the stairs at the other commuters, grinning like a madman and “scratching” himself, luckily he put the razor away, and replaced it with a medium sized radio. Which he turned on and started play AC/DC's “Back in Black”, he then put his radio on his shoulder like it was a boom-box and started strutting.

The guy must have been 80.



After shaving his stomach.

And asking to smell female farts.....

and cityrail thinks I'm the dangerous one....

It boggles my mind.