Baking, dancing, riding, not all at once

I got to the train station today in time to  witness a tableaux of escape and trickery to make John Candy proud.

There was a schoolkid sitting on one of the benches. Next to him was a man in a navy bomber jacket.

Schoolkid was leaning slightly away from Bomber-guy, his eyes darting about self-consciously. Bomber-guy wobbled slightly, more prepared to be in a horizontal position than vertical.

There was a second fella in a jumper who was shouting into Bomber’s ear, “Yer gotta git orf at North Melbourne if yer wanna git ter Dandenong. Ya hear? NORTH MELBOURNE.”

Suddenly, his eyes brightened. In a spark of inspiration, Jumper-fella turned to the schoolkid, “Now YOU make sure ‘e gits orf at North Melbourne, awright? Jest shove ‘im orf or somthin’.”

“Uh…” hesitated Schoolkid, unsure of why he had to be involved.

I found a seat close enough eavesdrop while pretending to read. Bomber was WAY off his chops, slurring his words, his eyes always on the verge of closing, but he still attempted to make small talk anyway.

Very small talk. Asking a 13-year-old schoolboy things like, “Why yis wanna studyin’ fer?” probably won’t get you definite answers.

The kid said, “Uh, I dunno,” eliciting a bark of laughter and spittle from Bomber.

I looked up in their direction and caught the eye of Schoolkid, who looked very amused, yet embarassed and uncertain. Why me, indeed.

Our train came, and Jumper-fella scooted as far away down the platform as he could, leaving the poor Schoolkid alone with Bomber.

Schoolkid obediently got in a carriage with Bomber anyway. I tagged along  behind and sat close by while they stood by the door.

As soon as we got to the next station, Schoolkid turned to Bomber, “Now, this is my stop, but you have to remember, get off at North Melbourne, ok? That’s 3 stops away. Count 3 stops.”

Then he leaped off the train. With a triumphant grin, his little legs whirring, he sped off down the platform and I caught a brief glimpse of his blue-and-red striped blazer as he successfully ducked into the next carriage, on the same train, wrenched free from the responsibility foisted unfairly upon him.

I continued pretending to read, albeit with a huge smile.

And the guy in the bomber jacket never got off at North Melbourne.