Scarlet Pimpernel

Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated.

I think we’ll all agree that people rarely talk freely in elevators and subways. Most of those who do are a bit left of centre, or one can short of six-pack: Nutjobs.

But there are others. They’re not crazy; they simply suffer from a rare form of verbal diarrhea.

Madame, do you really need and want the entire subway car to hear about your loose bowels, or the effect that spicy food has on them? Man sitting next to her: I’m

Don't let this happen to you!

Don't let this happen to you!

glad you’re aware that mayonnaise makes you incontinent, but you’ve forever ruined ham sandwiches for me. By the way, how do you think your family feels about you sharing their bathroom routine with the whole train?

Dude lecturing loudly to a woman on the phone about fashion: Do you really want to draw attention to your pink shorts and… bathroom slippers? Really?

Lady, I’m sure your boyfriend is a real scumbag, so it’s probably best not to plan his grisly murder with your girlfriend in front of a car full of witnesses. Take out a billboard – it would be more discreet.

I’m not even going to touch on the Crazy Hobo genre here. They’re the fodder for “overheard in…” sites.

It’s never sexy talk I overhear, though. That shit’s just in movies; I’m convinced. It’s probably a covert marketing campaign for the New York subways. They’re sinister bastards, the MTA.


One Response to “Scarlet Pimpernel”

  1. clightnirish Says:

    Welcome back, mate. I am sure everyone is as pleased to have you back as I am. And in fine form, too.


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