Jul 13, 2010 11:28
I meant to get into the coach of the train that's got a designated 'Quiet Zone' but, if I had, I would've missed this zeitgeisty little exchange:
Obnoxious child, sitting the wrong way on his seat, hammering the crap out of a plastic snake: "Die! Die, die, die!" (This goes on for quite some time. At considerable volume.)
Child's mother (eventually): "Ssh, Vernon."
Vernon (oblivious): "Rarrrrrrrgh! Die! Raggle-urgh-arrrrgghhhh!" (This is now so loud, that the elderly gentleman in a navy blue blazer and white polo shirt sitting opposite them looks up, startled.)
Vernon (clearly possessed by plastic snake-killing demons): "Aaarggh-guh-hah-hah-hah! Die!"
The elderly gentleman leans forward conspiratorially, looks the mother straight in the eye, and whispers loudly enough for everyone in the coach to hear: "Is he Special Forces?" She frowns, looking confused for a moment, before the penny drops.
Mother: "Special needs."
I bite my tongue, because I've been on a course muttering, "Oh, I don't know...give it twenty years?" at 'em might not be interpreted as 'constructive'.
london kills me,
personal