Little Shit takes the train

La baie des Anges, NiceSitting on the train to Nice, surrounded by three big men. I know what you’re thinking. But no.

“Number One” keeps on farting, “Number Two” sleeps with his mouth open. He had salmon for lunch. “Number Three” keeps on looking at me. I can’t decide whether he thinks I’m the eighth wonder or whether he’s going to hit me any minute.

I decide to go to the train’s little restaurant where I can enjoy an overpriced plastic dinner. I’m having plastic and a little piece of quiche. A man and a woman are talking. They must be colleagues. They don’t seem to know each-other that well. You can see on their facial expression that they actually despise one-another.

Him: I’d love to go to Ireland, or Scotland maybe.

Her: That bitch of a manager shouldn’t have opened a new agency, what the hell, she’s not learning from her mistakes.

Him: Well, I don’t entirely agree with you, I’d say er… she should know better after what happened last time.

Her: Well, that’s exactly what I said!

Him: Do you reckon Ireland’s very rainy in November?

This train seems to be going nowhere.

I go back to my seat. I’m bored. In 3 hours I’ll be in Nice, in 3 hours I’ll be by the sea. Too bad I’m going there for work. “Number Three” is still staring at me. I check that none of my things are missing from my bag. Maybe he’s dead and I just think he’s looking at me.

On the other side of the aisle, a grandfather and what looks like his grandson but who finally appears to be his daughter, is telling stories about his time in the Navy, the war in Indochina, Algeria… The guy who sits across from him listens kindly but discreetly browses through the place, to see where he could be sitting instead of having to listen to Rambo, 75 years old, presenting himself as Lawrence of Arabia. I can see how grandpa’s neighbor spots a good double seat. The people there got off in Aix-en-Provence. When the man realizes that Grandpa Rambo was also a parachutist in Chad, he slowly starts moving towards the empty double seat. At the same time, a tall guy jumps off his seat and frenetically jumps on the empty double seat. He immediately puts his legs and feet all over, his work bag is suddenly very large and deserves to occupy much space. It’s almost as if this guy would start peeing all over the seat to mark his territory. He is very rude.

Grandpa’s neighbor is upset and thinks: that little shit took my seat!

Grandpa’s neighbor needs a revenge, he’ll stare at Little Shit till the end of this trip.

And Little Shit, that would be me… I guess.


7 Responses

  1. You were completely justified. It’s a jungle on the TGV and only the strong survive. It would have been better if you’d taken out the old soldier at the same time, tho’ ;D

  2. here is the title of your book: “things overheard on the TGV”. With your recurring trips to Bordeaux and other villes Francaises, you could compile a fair share of material.
    Number 3 just wanted your mobile number but was too shy to ask…

  3. Jesus Micke, that’s got to be the most surreal train ride I’ve ever heard of…

    It amazed me how you manage to survive the biological/chemical warfare (aka farts and fishy breath) and scare tactics (shitty work and old time r war stories) and live.

    Bet you packed your gas mask!

  4. Hey, ím first on your blogroll! Thank the Greeks/Egyptians/Romans for the alphabet!

  5. That’s showing ’em how to Honey. You get an extra firm squeeze for that one1 Mwwwwwwwah!

  6. Didn’t want to ruin the story by saying – great new look to your site!

  7. public transit is wonderfully entertaining. And also nerve wrecking.

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