London Blunderground- story for you

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This week marked my latest attempt to pull someone on the tube. When I got on at King’s Cross, she was already sitting there. I slid in right beside her and our eyes met for a split second. I presumptuously detected a hint of longing.

This situation is not unusual. Every time I’m on the tube, I exchange similar glances with various female passengers. After all, there’s not much else to look at. But like most people, I never do anything about it.  

I say never... one time about seven years ago, a striking fair-haired lady caught my eye on the Victoria Line. We exchanged smouldering looks as the train shuffled along. Then, to my delight, we got off at the same stop. If that was promising, imagine my excitement when I found myself one step above her on the escalator. I was convinced she had orchestrated the whole thing.

I should mention at this point that I’d indulged in a spot of afternoon drinking that day – only two or three pints, but enough to instil me with the impudence to purr, “I think you’re the best-looking girl on this escalator.”

“Thanks,” she responded demurely and smiled.

“That’s okay,” I replied, and then felt myself mentally disintegrate on the spot. I couldn’t think of a single other thing to say. Within seconds, we’d reached the top of our electric stairway to heaven and next thing I was shoving a travelcard through a ticket machine and wondering what the hell had just happened. Suffice to say, I never saw the girl again.

A long time has elapsed between that fateful day and this week, when the King’s Cross girl and I are sitting next to one another. But for some reason, I could feel it happening again. I was going to say something to her. 

As soon as I contemplated this, I began to panic. The carriage wasn’t full but there were people sitting around us. They’d all witness my audaciously seedy attempt to pick up on public transport. I couldn’t do it.

Then a brilliant idea hit me. I had no phone because it was being repaired, so I didn’t know the time.  I’d ask her what the time was. Simple, but genius. 

So I decided to ask. But again, I was instantly gripped by fear and my heart began pounding like Tiger Woods on a Club 18-30 holiday. 

I normally don’t have trouble striking up conversation with girls. But on the tube? In the middle of the day? It seemed like the craziest plan ever. I couldn’t do it... could I?

“I’m sorry, but have you got the time?” I asked as nonchalantly as possible. 

“Sure,” she responded warmly and fished a phone out of her handbag. “It’s quarter to two.” She was American, which I liked. 

With the 2003 escalator debacle still gnawing at me, I resolved to keep going. I told her I’d lost my phone and that I was late for work. Conversation flowed quite nicely for the next couple of minutes. It turned out we had a few things in common, and there was a definite spark. Basically, I was in. 

She’d already told me where she was getting off but her stop approached more quickly than I expected. She gave me roughly an eight-second warning: “So, er, this is me.” 

We literally had eight seconds left. Should I get her number? Was there time? Should I invite her for lunch? Should I follow her off the tube? Should I ask her name? Should I tell her mine? Should I go in for the snog? In the end, I did none of these.

 “Cool, nice to meet you,” I said. That was it.

“Nice to meet you too,” she said, and she hesitantly stalked through the sliding doors, shooting a curious glance back as she went. The doors slammed shut and my tube chugged smoothly away.

It was a bit of a waste, but it was better than the escalator I suppose. I’m going to try that again soon, and I'll let you know what happens.


Posted By Dan Juan