Brighton beach
OK. It’s not OK. It’s not OK to start your story with OK but I will start it with OK, OK.
A skinny teenage girl in tight skinny jeans (just like everyone else here) gets onboard in Lancing station. She plonks her skinny ass onto the seat across the aisle from me. As soon as her ass touches the seat, her right foot is up on the seat opposite her. And stares at her phone. Just like the woman, in her late 40’s or early 50’s sitting diagonally across from her is doing, staring at her phone screen. She seems trying to ignore the white sneakered foot that lands in the seat next to hers. She focuses hard on her phone screen.
On the other hand, a middle age man sitting opposite me is shooting daggers. I can almost hear the woosh woosh sound of air being sliced by his momentary glare. I’m holding my breath. Then exhales in relief as he closes his eyes. He’s letting it go, I think. Not even ten seconds later he opens his eyes, stands up, walks to the skinny girl. Oh no. Another scene, another drama is inevitable. I just know. I can already foresee.
“Would you mind taking your foot off the seat?”
She looks up for a second and back to her phone screen, totally ignoring the man. Lol. What a twat. What happens next, not even in a blink of an eye, because I swear if I blink my eye I will not see. The middle age man pushes her foot off the seat. Whoa!!! Did he just do that? Then he sits in the seat where the skinny girl just rested her foot before. My heart just skips a bit. God, this is going to get ugly. Bloodbath even. Haha.
Immediately the skinny girl curls up on her seat and transforms herself as a victim of assault.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me you weirdo.”
She repeats the line over and over and plays her character as victim quite good I must say. Then she moves to the seat diagonally across from me. And parks her foot on the seat next to mine. What an arrogant bratty little cunt. Only if I am allowed to whack this twat……
“Please do not put your foot on the seat,” I tell her. Neither in a motherly nor in principally tone. Just natural, whatever natural tone sounds like.
“What do you care?” she retorts. “Seats are dirty anyway. And door handles are dirtier than seats because of so many hands touching them,” she continues.
The middle age man across the aisle from her chips in.
“Shoes are dirty & full of faecal bacterias etc etc. Would you sit on the floor if you don’t care?”
The skinny bratty bitch is on the phone now telling whomever, may be a friend, at the end of the line,
“This weird old man touched me because I put my foot on the seat.” Pauses.
“I don’t know. He’s just weird.” Pauses.
She glances at the man. “He’s old. 40.” Pauses. Then another glance.
“May be 50.” Ouchy gouchy. That’s a 10-year jump after her second glance of the man. 😂
Skinny bitch: 1. Middle age man: 0
Lol…..
***2nd chapter to follow
The Pavilion, Brighton
Not a Typical Malaysian lah : Diary of a Traveller 