I fought the law and the law ...
Oct. 14th, 2007 11:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootoffered me a cup of tea.
All right, there's a bit more to it than this.
See, I pre-bought my train ticket, and dutifully went to the local train station. Naturally, they had changed the train times, so I was a bit late. Not very late, just a bit...then the train stopped in the middle of nowhere for a lovely 20 minute break, and then those charming trams in Manchester just didn't turn up. Three lines, three tramlines, and they can't even tell you that the trams aren't coming. I got to Manchester Piccadilly just in time, got my ticket out of the machine just in time, dashed on to the platform just in time - to find the train doors shut. I was meant to be on the 2.45 train. There it was in front of me. 2.45. The lady in charge could not open the doors. I remonstrated. We had a frank exchange of views during which the doors could have been opened a dozen times. She finally suggested I talk to the driver, I ran up the platform to do so and the train drove away.
The day had all been too much. In fury, I flung my carry case, coat and bag all over the platform, went back to the lady and blistered her ears. She ran off and the police arrived. They told me that they would accompany me out of the station if I wasn't careful, and I asked if they were going to arrest me.
'We'll remove you if you carry on shouting.' They said.
Thing is, I don't have an anger management problem generally. No really. It turns up every couple of years under extreme stress. I just lost control of my mind and my mouth and roared at the police to know what anti-shouting statutes I had broken. The biggest of the boys asked me how I would feel if he shouted at me. I said he could bring out the rest of the force, 'All the other 11 year olds,' I told him, '- And bring the chief constable as well, if he's finished his homework - and you can all stand in a line in front of me and yell cos VOLUME IS NOT MY PROBLEM!' From the way they were eyeballing me they had their own ideas about what my problem was. I don't regret any of the above. Like I said, I was under extreme stress.
I do regret the little dance.
I started doing a bitter little boogie plus handjive round the platform, whilst demanding to know if I had broken any anti-dancing laws. During my caper, I noticed the stillness of the station, every eye upon me. Even my exhibitionist streak was daunted. I knew those gazes, I knew that tone. I was the nutter on the bus, the muttering mentalist, the catlady perusing the local dustbins, this was the moment that would be captured on CCTV and sent to Sky and broadcast by Jeremy Beadle to destroy my career, I was that lunatic, me, me, and they had done this to me, British Rail and Virgin Pendolino and the Transport Police and the Bloody Godforsaken North!
I collapsed on the platform and sat there bawling; I managed to demand to know if I had broken any anti-crying laws. At this point, the two of them crouched down next to me. 'We think,' they said, 'You need a cup of tea.'
They looked at my ticket whilst I explained that I didn't want/couldn't afford/shouldn't have to pay for an update. 'You don't have to,' explained the lady copper, 'These are valid all day. The next train to London leaves in 15 minutes from platform 4 right over there.' I looked across. It wasn't even up a ramp. Getting to the platform would take me about 20 seconds.
They asked me if I was going to be all right, I thanked them and said I just needed to go somewhere and cry. A young guy came up to me as I did just that, and in a broad northern accent, asked me if I was OK, if I needed someone to talk to or if there was any help they could give. When I declined, he gestured back at his good lady, who looked at me with concern, and said if I changed my mind or needed anything, they were happy to help. Realising it wasn't the North's fault at all, that in fact people were really nice, I managed to borrow enough dignity out of his kindness to thank him; but my soul was too crazed to bear even their gentle company, and I shuffled towards the next train rather than wait. I suspect I would have spontaneously combusted had I missed it.
I toldlarians this story, and he commiserated, laughed, and called me a tw*t. By then I was on the train, and I could laugh at myself, but his words of advice have stayed with me since; 'Baby...' he said, his tone a mixture of concern and relief, 'Be nice to people, OK?'
All right, there's a bit more to it than this.
See, I pre-bought my train ticket, and dutifully went to the local train station. Naturally, they had changed the train times, so I was a bit late. Not very late, just a bit...then the train stopped in the middle of nowhere for a lovely 20 minute break, and then those charming trams in Manchester just didn't turn up. Three lines, three tramlines, and they can't even tell you that the trams aren't coming. I got to Manchester Piccadilly just in time, got my ticket out of the machine just in time, dashed on to the platform just in time - to find the train doors shut. I was meant to be on the 2.45 train. There it was in front of me. 2.45. The lady in charge could not open the doors. I remonstrated. We had a frank exchange of views during which the doors could have been opened a dozen times. She finally suggested I talk to the driver, I ran up the platform to do so and the train drove away.
The day had all been too much. In fury, I flung my carry case, coat and bag all over the platform, went back to the lady and blistered her ears. She ran off and the police arrived. They told me that they would accompany me out of the station if I wasn't careful, and I asked if they were going to arrest me.
'We'll remove you if you carry on shouting.' They said.
Thing is, I don't have an anger management problem generally. No really. It turns up every couple of years under extreme stress. I just lost control of my mind and my mouth and roared at the police to know what anti-shouting statutes I had broken. The biggest of the boys asked me how I would feel if he shouted at me. I said he could bring out the rest of the force, 'All the other 11 year olds,' I told him, '- And bring the chief constable as well, if he's finished his homework - and you can all stand in a line in front of me and yell cos VOLUME IS NOT MY PROBLEM!' From the way they were eyeballing me they had their own ideas about what my problem was. I don't regret any of the above. Like I said, I was under extreme stress.
I do regret the little dance.
I started doing a bitter little boogie plus handjive round the platform, whilst demanding to know if I had broken any anti-dancing laws. During my caper, I noticed the stillness of the station, every eye upon me. Even my exhibitionist streak was daunted. I knew those gazes, I knew that tone. I was the nutter on the bus, the muttering mentalist, the catlady perusing the local dustbins, this was the moment that would be captured on CCTV and sent to Sky and broadcast by Jeremy Beadle to destroy my career, I was that lunatic, me, me, and they had done this to me, British Rail and Virgin Pendolino and the Transport Police and the Bloody Godforsaken North!
I collapsed on the platform and sat there bawling; I managed to demand to know if I had broken any anti-crying laws. At this point, the two of them crouched down next to me. 'We think,' they said, 'You need a cup of tea.'
They looked at my ticket whilst I explained that I didn't want/couldn't afford/shouldn't have to pay for an update. 'You don't have to,' explained the lady copper, 'These are valid all day. The next train to London leaves in 15 minutes from platform 4 right over there.' I looked across. It wasn't even up a ramp. Getting to the platform would take me about 20 seconds.
They asked me if I was going to be all right, I thanked them and said I just needed to go somewhere and cry. A young guy came up to me as I did just that, and in a broad northern accent, asked me if I was OK, if I needed someone to talk to or if there was any help they could give. When I declined, he gestured back at his good lady, who looked at me with concern, and said if I changed my mind or needed anything, they were happy to help. Realising it wasn't the North's fault at all, that in fact people were really nice, I managed to borrow enough dignity out of his kindness to thank him; but my soul was too crazed to bear even their gentle company, and I shuffled towards the next train rather than wait. I suspect I would have spontaneously combusted had I missed it.
I told
larians this story, and he commiserated, laughed, and called me a tw*t. By then I was on the train, and I could laugh at myself, but his words of advice have stayed with me since; 'Baby...' he said, his tone a mixture of concern and relief, 'Be nice to people, OK?'
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