A Tale of Two Cardigans

Rains, Trains and Pains

Desmond was not an attractive man, not by any stretch of the imagination, and we are talking about a very flexible imagination indeed.
He stood waiting to cross the road, looking longingly at those who had the foresight to bring an umbrella. As the rain started to fall he took solace in the knowledge that when the lights changed, the majority of people, without umbrellas, would run across the road to the nearest shelter. Desmond, of course, knew better. Someone, somewhere had studied how wet one gets walking compared when running in the rain, and had concluded the effects were the same.
His train of thought was derailed momentarily when a balding man in a suit scurried up next to him and began pressing the "I'd like to cross the road" button repeatedly.
Desmond looked around, extending his gaze to the other corners of the intersection. There must have been eighty or ninety people waiting to cross the road. Did this self-important moron really think he was the sole custodian of the secret to the changing of the magic lights?
Desmond wanted to grab the back of his head and smash his face against the button but instead he smiled at the man, using just his checks and continued looking straight ahead. As the lights changed and the masses scampered in the rain, Desmond smiled a knowing smile, all the time wishing he had brought an umbrella.

As Desmond walked casually to the train station he began seriously doubting the validity of the walkie, runny research methodology.
Reaching the edge of the station, he brushed the arms of his coat and squeegeed the excess water from his hair, flicking it at the ground.
"Get a bit wet?" enquired a Transit Guard.
"No, I'm a fucking synchronised swimmer doing high altitude training!" Desmond thought to himself, but responded with a strained smile and a short burst of air from his nose.
He stepped onto the escalator and moved immediately to the left. As people brushed, bustled, and bumped past him, Desmond shook his head, not because they were rude and in a rush, but because they were so ignorant of the law.
How could they not know the rise and run of an escalator platform did not constitute a standard stair configuration? The platforms were designed for standing on, not walking up and down them. If you were to fall while traversing an escalator? You would not be covered by insurance.
Ironically, Desmond was so distracted by the number of people taking their lives into their own hands that he tripped on the breach when stepping off the escalator. Recovering quickly, he proceeded to the platform.

Desmond sat down and took out the crossword page from the daily paper, folded it strategically and clicked the top of his pen, ready for action.
He lowered his head, so that he could look over the top of his glasses and surveyed the carriage. People's faces lit up by flickering screens, their thumbs swiping and tapping as if there was some deadline or useless crap quota to meet. One guy was even texting without looking at the screen! Was he trying to recall the facts or find just the right turn of phrase? Was he blind? Desmond reviewed the list of options, and concluded he was probably just a show-off poonce. "Noodle!" interjected a voice from behind. Desmond look back and up. 

"Noodle" the stranger announced again this time pointing at the folded paper on Desmond's lap. "Four down, six letters, Asian take out cranium", he added. "You know they have an app for that now, cross words I mean", the man offered.
Desmond took off his glasses and enquired, "Do they an app that can make actual people go away, just by swiping left?"
"Do you mean Tinder?" the man offered.
"No!" said Desmond, "I think it's called "Foam Yob!"
"Foam Yob?" repeated the man.
"Fuck off and mind you own business!" snapped Desmond. Or at least that's what he wanted to say, in reality he simply nodded his head, turned in his seat so the stranger couldn't see his cross word and pretended to write down Noodle.

The relative silence was fractured by an annoying ring tone, followed by pretentious and far too loud "Go for Ricky."
Now, if you are going to take a call on a crowded train? You had better be a mid-wife or a hostage negotiator.  And if you're not? Then do it quietly.
Desmond especially liked to watch the people that moved their phone from their ear when they were listening, to their chin when they were talking. It reminded him of the Amazon guy, with the ashtray lip that travelled around with Sting in the nighties and then turned up twenty years later in the Black Panther movie?

Ricky proceeded to for the next 10 minutes to sprout a continuous stream of verbal diarrhoea that made Desmond want to strap a nappy to his face. Punctuate by expletives this inane dribble grated on Desmond's every nerve and assaulted his sensibilities. As the train pulled into the next station and people started to alight, Desmond lamented that he still had several stop to go, and even though the train was electric, Ricky shown no signs of running out of steam! As the automated voice announced, "Doors Closing", Desmond could take no more. He stood up, stormed to where Ricky was standing, snatched the phone and threw it out of the closing doors and onto the platform. Ricky's jaw dropped and for the fist time this trip, no noise was coming out. Desmond pointed in the general direction of the doors. 

"That was the most exciting thing that will happen to you today and you can't even call anyone to tell them!"

The carriage erupted with applause as Desmond pivoted and returned to his seat. This day dream was interrupted by Ricky snorting into his phone that was still very much in his hand, in tact and in the middle of a call. At the same time Ricky had noticed that Desmond was staring at him.  When Desmond realised this he smiled, using just his cheeks and went back to his crossword.