Updated: Oct 23, 2018
The Dart. It is so fast it is figuratively like a dart, coursing the air at full velocity. Or it stands for Dublin Area Rapid Transit. The rapid part is ironic, but not as ironic as the fact that its acronym spells dart. Part of the every day, though today was slightly more rousing than usual. Today I was approached by a man with a clipboard and an eager smile.
‘Where you getting off?’ he asked as he sat next to me.
‘Ahh, Pearse, or Tara, I don’t really know’
‘Great’ he says, ‘So you have time for a questionnaire concerning your mode of transport’
He had fecking caught me. I could have potentially lied about which station I got off, but then I would have to commit to an elaborate untruth which would involve me walking for an extra 40 minutes.
I smiled and nodded, and let him ask me questions discerning my comfort and my impressions on the visage of the train-
‘Oh its an attractive train all right’. Had I been faster on my feet I could’ve thrown in a manic thigh rub and he would’ve left me alone.
But he said to me something, something that made me think.
‘Will you be talking about the train and your experience on it enthusiastically to your friends and family?’
‘Jaysis, Id hope not, sure id have better things to talk about, like that pigeon over there’
I knew it didn’t make any sense, in my wry attempt to be funny, I was as ineloquent as the club footed bird I was referring to.
‘Grand, so were all done here’
He stood up but had nowhere to go. We had a good full minute or so before the train stopped for me to get off. He turned his back to me and pretended to read the interesting graffiti on the wall, he stared at the word ‘tits’ for quite some time.
Would I tell my friends, how funny! Did he really think that’s the calibre of conversation I would carry? A funny story to tell indeed. I forget why I started writing this. Ah yeah, that pigeon reminded me of the story that’s why. Making friends should be fairly easy right? Wouldn’t want to waste a good story.