When people visit Disneyland, I don’t think they do so in hope that they will learn a valuable life lesson. I know I didn’t anyway. I went for the rollercoasters and the man in the giant mouse costume. And to get my gran
Satan's minions.
dmother on the runaway train ride (“It’s a slow one, honestly!”). She still hasn’t forgiven me for that.
In return for my hilarious prank which resulted in a lot of British children becoming au-fait with a lot of swear words that only a seventy year-old Parisienne could be credited with knowing, I was forced onto the infamous ‘It’s A Small Word’ ride. Karma also had its say in the matter and saw to it that the ride broke down, and we were trapped in there for nearly an hour. I’m certain that this hilarious chain of events played an integral part in my phobia of dolls.
However, while we sat on the boat and awaited rescue, I had plenty of time to absorb the message that these awful dolls were repeating over and over again. It is a small world. It seems overwhelmingly huge sometimes, but it’s not really. I say this with a sense of authority because, for the third time this year, I have crossed paths with the girl I was best friends with at primary school.
She was a nice enough girl when we were 6 years old. But fifteen years has driven a wedge between us, and we don’t really have anything in common any more, which makes for some bloody awful awkward silences. I saw her about a year ago, when we walked past each other on a street in London. It was nice to see her then, and to have a quick chat, but we both had places to go to in a hurry: cue lots of empty promises about getting in touch.
I bumped into her again (literally) in Boots on a nearby street about six weeks later. That was even more uncomfortable than our last encounter as neither of us had got in touch. Rather thankfully I w
as already in the queue waiting to pay, so our riveting conversation about the shampoo I was buying had to end. There were no promises of going for a drink this time.
I was on a train this week when it happened again. I sat down, and was reading my newspaper, when I got that feeling that someone was staring at me. I waited until I felt the person’s gaze move away, then looked up quickly. Yes, it’s bloody her again. She’s sitting opposite me. What do I do? This train journey is going to take 40 minutes – we don’t have 40 minutes of conversation between us. I decide to carry on reading my paper as slowly as possible, an
d try to drag it out for the duration of the trip. If she had seen me and ignored me, I can only assume that her unwillingness to get dragged into another uncomfortable chat about nothing was as strong as my own.
The next 40 minutes turns into an elaborate tango between the two of us, both desperately trying to avoid making the fatal error of eye contact. I become engrossed with my iPod, and start work on a new playlist. My battery dies. We’ve still got 20 minutes to go. I try closing my eyes and pretending to be asleep, but I’m so tired that I have very real concerns that I will go to sleep and wake up in Manchester. There’s 15 minutes left. I pick up my BlackBerry and start frantically responding to every unanswered email that I have from the last month. I have a look on Twitter, read some headlines on the BBC and go on Facebook.
The best part of all of this is that the girl and I are friends on bloody Facebook. So when I have a look on there, I see that she’s updated her status:
On my train home sitting next to someone I don’t want to talk to!! Help!!!
Bloody charming. But thankfully as I’m about to say something to her, I reach my station. I pick up my bag, drop my concentration and make eye contact. I have to say something now, I can’t ignore her. “Oh my gosh, hi Fran, I didn’t see you there!” I overcompensate in an effort to feign surprise that she has been sitting opposite me for the last hour. “Laura! Hi! No me neither,” she gushes.
Awkward pause.
“Well…this is my stop so I have to go. It was nice seeing you,” I lie, as the doors close. Fran waves goodbye. By the time I get home, her Facebook status has been deleted. I’m surprised, and somewhat sad about the fact that I haven’t been.
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