Hello Stranger

“I’m sorry, go on.” says an elderly looking lady, but still with plenty of life, to me whilst her dog stood in the middle of the path obstructing my way to work.

The golden Labrador looks at me with sad eyes, with what looks like a tear coming down from one eye.

“That’s OK, I’ll always wait for such a good looking Labrador.” I say cheerily as the sad looking canine plods up a self made wooded ladder in to the lady’s estate car.

“Thank you very much.” She says as I trot off with a spring in my step to work. The spring coming from seeing a dog I like the look of and that I had made contact with a complete stranger.

“Why do people think that all people they have never met are weirdos, nut jobs, rapists and/or murderers?” I think to myself as I see my train pulling in to the station from the other side of the wall. I will have to get the slow train.

“Oh well, who cares, maybe I will talk to someone else on the slow train. People with more time to think are generally on slow trains. Artists, Writers, Musicians. Them sort. Interesting people. Definitely.” I think to myself as I wait on platform 3 as the slow train pulls in to the station and the pre-recorded announcer rattles off the long list of ‘calling at’ stations before he gets to mine.

I sit down at the back of the carriage and the train pulls of slowly out of the station. I look around the carriage for potential strangers to strike up a conversation with. As I peer round the side of the chair in front of me I see a rather gothic looking character, which I think is a girl, or a 12 year old boy. “Better not talk to it. It maybe a boy and people will think you are a paedophile.” I think to myself trying not to look directly at it.

I slowly look down the carriage of empty seats to find someone else. My eyes meet at an Asian lady with a head scarf. I smile at her and think “She seems nice, interesting, will have a different perspective on life. Definitely. I should definitely get up and talk to her.”

As I rise from my seat, still smiling directly at her, almost a Tony Blair circa 1997 looking smile by now, (I couldn’t stop, I think I thought it made me more approachable.) a man’s head rises from the seat beside her. It was an Asian man, looking very disgruntled and had the ‘if you come any closer, I will defend my wife’s honour through physical means’ look. My heart skips a beat and I begin to panic. It turn immediately back and take my seat right at the back of the carriage. I grab a tattered cope of the Metro and hide under it.

I spend the rest of journey pretending to read about how 50 is the new 20 whilst peering over the top of my paper at every station to see if the Asian couple get off. They don’t.

I contemplate for the day at my desk how many conversations and interesting people I am missing out on by staying silent all of the time. “Everyone is missing out on these conversations. Everyone is missing out on sharing a little part of themselves with the world by staying silent.” My mind shouts as I think that I have had a revelation and I think that I can change the world..well at least the South West Trains part of the world through the art of stranger conversation.

On my way home, I sit at Vauxhall station. Again, I have missed the train. I have to take the slow train. I have 10 minutes until the train, so I spend the time doing my usual activity of daydreaming about winning the lottery and what I would do if I had the day off tomorrow.

Then I see her. My person. The one I am going to strike a conversation with and potentially make friends with. It was ideal, it would be like the Match.com advert where the man sings to the girl, but in a less date orientated way.

I go over and sit by her. She looks nice, blonde, normal looking, vintage dress, red lipstick, black mascara.

“What do I say?” I think. “Nice dress? Nah weird. I like the look of you? Nah even weirder. I want to be your friend? Pyscho territory.”

She looks at me and smiles. I must say something, I am in there, this…is it.

“I’m not a weirdo or a murderer.” I blurt out. She looks at me with a bemused look.

“I mean, you looked nice and I have been looking for someone to talk to all day. I’m not trying it on with you, god no, I’m gay anyway and….”

“Weirdo.” She says with a disgusted tone to her voice as she gets up and darts down to the end of the platform, looking over her shoulder a couple of times to make sure I was not following her.

My train pulls in to the station and I watch her get in to the last carriage, again, making sure I wasn’t following. I get on the train, four carriages down and the doors close. I stand and watch the rails as the train pulls out of the station silently.

“That’s why people don’t talk to strangers. We are definitely all weirdos.” I think.

The next day I walk to work and see the dog lady. I stay on the other side of the road.

I say to myself. “Better not talk to her again. She could be a weirdo.”