"Oh my God, not him." It was early one bright Monday morning recently and I was rushing for the train. There he was, about 200m ahead, loping languidly in the same direction. Him "Mr Get Up and Go".
Feeling trapped and doubly resentful (I am not now nor have I ever been a morning person) at what fate had thrust my way, and relishing it perhaps as much as Christ did in Gethsemane, I thought: That miserable fecker.
My destiny was writ. I was to be stuck for the next half-hour train journey making turgid conversation with this man, only then to arrive at work already exhausted.
What a way to start the day (the week, as it happened) stuck on a train with a man who makes "I'm Miserable Now" Morrissey of the Smiths seem like Billy Connolly on speed.
If he saw me, my goose was cooked. I lunged into a doorway in case he’d look back. He ambled ahead, his gait an equal and apposite reflection of his outlook on life.
As I stood there, now suddenly caught between two anxieties – missing the train and being stuck with Bright Eyes for 30 minutes – I realised once more that discipline was never my forte.
A certain consolation crept in as I imagined the distance between us grow and that he would end up farther down the station platform. We would be in different carriages then, and his stop in the city was one before mine.
(I walked to that stop once, for a change, only for him to hail me on his way home. It was the longest journey. Mr Congeniality he is not. When I got to my place I collapsed on a couch and feel asleep).
In the doorway long enough, I counted to 10 and looked out when, shockingly, he passed by at speed brushing against my nose. Distracted by the pace of it all, it took me some time to realise it was not him after all but a look-alike postman doing his rounds. I should have felt foolish but I was just delighted.
Just the way to start the day (the week, as it happened).
Congeniality, "of kindred, affinity of character or interest". From Latin con (with) and genialis (of birth).
inaword@irishtimes.com
