Okay commuter

The train station was heaving with people, an angry swarm of suits. There were no trains showing on the departure board.

I managed to find a member of station staff. “What’s happening?”, I asked.

“No trains, mate,” he said, “there’s an escaped tiger.”

“A tiger? What’s that got to do with the trains?”

“Drivers are refusing to go out when there’s a tiger about. It’s not safe, see?”

“Not safe, but they’re enclosed in a solid metal container travelling at up to 100 mph. The only place that’s not safe from the tiger is here,” I gestured to the immovable throng of people. “If a tiger walked in here now it would cause havoc.”

“’Snot my decision mate. You’ll just have to wait for an announcement like everyone else.”

“But what if the tiger’s not caught, how’ll I get home.

“No need to worry about that mate, it’s guaranteed in the ticket. If we can’t get you home we have to lay on a bus, or taxis, and if we can’t do that we have to put you up in a hotel for the night. Let me look at your ticket.

“Oh dear, you’ve got a saver.”

“Yes, it’s five pound cheaper, so what?”

“Well, no guarantees for a saver ticket, you’ll have to make your own way if the tiger’s not caught.”

“Make my own way? It’s over fifty miles.”

“Well then, stay over with a friend, get a lift. Sorry mate, I’ve got a thousand other people to help.”

I walked away before I hit him. There were indeed thousands of us, zombified by the system, unable to go anywhere, but afraid to leave in case we miss the first elusive train.

I decided to do the only sensible thing I could. I walked to a nearby pub for some food. It was heaving with people who’d had the same idea but I managed to find an empty seat at a table with another man in his 30s, clearly in the same situation as me, who was halfway through his scampi and chips.

“Mind if I join you?” I asked.

“Na, help yourself - name’s John.” He held out the two fingers of his hand which weren’t clasping his knife and I wriggled them with mine.

“The 4.39 I was due to get, gonna be home early for me daughter’s birthday.” With the two non-fork fingers of his left hand he removed a photo from his shirt pocket and passed it to me.

“Cecilia - she’s five,” he said, which meant that the photo was exactly a year old, unless she often ate cakes with four candles in them.

We struck up something of a rapport and took turns running to the station to check the latest news, but train after train was cancelled (if they’re cancelled they’re not late so you can’t claim a refund).

It started to get late.

“You got anywhere you can stay?” John asked. I responded with a shake of my head.

“Me neither,” he said. “Truth is I’m brassic, can’t afford a hotel, not even a doss house.”

“I’m in the same boat. I had to take a pay cut to keep my job.”

“If worse comes to worse,” he said, “we can sleep in the station. It’ll be safe from the tiger and there’ll be other people in the same boat.”

“It’ll be cold though.”

“That’s where we’re in luck. I’m a travelling duvet salesman, I’ve got two samples with me.”

“Blimey,” I said, “you couldn’t make up a coincidence like that.”

He produced the two bags he’d stashed under our table and took out a corner of what looked like a 16 tog kingsized.

“It’s a 16 tog kingsized.”

We needed them, of course, no trains ever showed. Mysteriously though we were the only commuters there, the rest had somehow got a lift, found a better place to stay the night. Some of them might even have had the right tickets to get an hotel or taxi.

We’d bought a bottle of whisky at the pub and sat for a while, under our duvets, chatting. A little before midnight a homeless guy comes in and walks up to us. “Mind if I join you guvna, good to get a bit o’ company like.”

He laid out his few belongings beside us.

“You sleep here often do you?”, I asked.

“Every night. Quiet and covered you see, get a good kip here.”

“Fancy a swig?” asked John, handing him the bottle. He did, of course, and we sat for an hour bantering, hearing tales of the street. In the end John and I ended up sharing a duvet and giving the other to the homeless guy, Ron he said his name was, though he also answered to Tom or Iguana, depending on the situation.

We slept eventually, dreaming dreams of perfect worlds, where trains run on time and tigers behave themselves.