STRANGER DANGER

I think I look like a pretty, semi, decent, half presentable guy. Sure, sometimes I can do a morning run to the shop for the papers looking like a greasy, yet formidable skank, but I'm usually of an acceptable standard. But coming back from the countryside into Kings Cross this morning after a nice wedding, my presentability came into question on the train.


I was sitting alone around a table, when a young mother and her (im guessing) five year old daughter approached looking for a seat. The train was full and I was in half-doze mode so I didn't give a rats ass where they sat, but she looked at me and she was not overly pleased with the situation in hand. But you see, I was looking pretty presentable at that moment. I was suited and booted, albeit with a crumpled shirt, and doing the non-sex walk of shame (the third worst of all the walk of shames, after (1) the actually getting some sex-walk of shame, and (2) the leaving a party in the morning after someone doing the 'hand-in-some-water' trick on you, but you still actually getting some sex before that-walk of shame).


But where my reaction would usually be one of indifference, and "well, go and find your own flipping seat", I found myself trying to sell myself, as if I were a timeshare salesman, and the table/my pleasant company were my unfinished condo in Tenerife. But I began to panic more, as the lady's concerned expression seemed to emulate more from concern for her child’s safety, as if I was a dormant child molester awaiting my first prey. When they were seated, due to a nervous reaction, my usually charming smile became an overblown psycho-beam, and I became conscious that I was blinking a lot more than usual. And to make matters worse, I was reading my paper on the table and its full of Ian Huntley’s insurance claim and Sarah’s Law articles, so I’m becoming more and more paranoid that this woman was going to have some undercover policemen/women waiting for me back in London.


By then, I was desperately trying to find a reason to talk, hoping my Scottish drawl would instantly calm her, and make her realise that although I may look slightly eastern European, that’s no reason to think that I’m a beast. (OK, that was a generalisation. I know not ALL eastern Europeans are child molesters, but if you throw enough shit...)


But to sum this up, I eased the woman’s nerves by doing the one thing I had left in my arsenal... faking sleep. The creepy stares continued onto the tube, and also in the shops near my house, until I finally got home and realised that one half of my face was almost completely covered in newspaper ink, black AND red!!


You can learn a lot about what kind of person you’ve become by how people react to you, if you’re honest with yourself. People shouldn’t judge books by their covers, we know that. But it’s human nature to do so. Whenever I first meet someone, my two instant reactions are either imagining what it would be like to have sex with them (women only), or planning how I would fight them in case they were to attack. (Big guy – kick in the plums, small weak guy – kung fu moves) (savour it) (Big woman - try to take the beating like a man)


This experience was still pretty alien to me. I grew up in the 80’s in the Highlands of Scotland, and there were no child molesters back then. I used to take lifts off strangers all the time. One guy, after school when I was about nine years old, took me to his house and he actually DID have sweets and puppies. So I stayed for a while, ate a few lollipops, played with the puppies, we had some sex, then he gave me a lift home! Everyone’s a winner!