That’s interesting, right? Back me up here, fellas!
We pull up in a taxi outside the train station in Pisa, Italy. The driver lifts our cases out of the trunk.
“You know there is a strike today? On the trains?”
Nope, we didn’t know that.
“Not every train,” he hastens to add, seeing our disappointed faces. “Some trains only.”
We pull our cases towards the entrance.
“Our train to Lucca will be okay,” I say. “You only booked the tickets two hours ago. They’re hardly going to sell you tickets and then cancel the train two hours later. That makes no sense at all!”
On the Platform
“That makes no sense at all!” I wail loudly.
We’ve arrived on platform 4. People are looking up at the big electronic screen. The 14:10 to Lucca has been cancelled.
We stand staring at the screen in silence for a minute, both seemingly under the same misapprehension.
Misapprehension: If two people stare silently at an electronic screen for sixty seconds, the message it’s displaying will change to something more to their liking.
There’s a granite bench nearby with a couple our age sitting on it. My wife, She Who Books Things, eyes the space on the end. The woman sees her looking and scooches up to make room. She Who Books Things sits down and the two start chatting.
I continue staring at the screen. The woman’s partner studies his phone.
Schitt’s Creek
She Who Books Things waves me over.
“This is Linda and John from London. They visited Belfast a few months ago,” she informs me.
She announces this like Belfast is Schitt’s Creek where every visitor is a novelty, instead of a city with half a million people and some decent tourist footfall. That’s what Belfast people do. We react like kids at Christmas when we hear someone has been in our hometown.
We ask them if they enjoyed their visit and breathe out when they give their verdict.
Interesting place, tick. Friendly people, tick. Great break altogether, extra big tick.
She Who Books Things moves the conversation along.
“Linda and John are going to Lucca for the Rod Stewart concert!”
I make all the appropriate noises and facial expressions for this bit of news. I don’t like Rod Stewart’s music, but since they were nice about Belfast, I’m not going to be rude about Rod.
You’re so lucky, I say. Wish we’d known, I say. If only there were tickets left, I say.
The Taxi Rank
John is still looking at his phone. He tells us that the next train to Lucca is in two hours. We decide to share a taxi instead of waiting.
We head off the platform quickly to find the taxi rank. That’s the smart move, we all agree. Get there before there’s a huge crowd.
We get there to find there’s a huge crowd.
Lesson: Smart, crowd-beating moves don’t begin with chats about Belfast city breaks and Rod Stewart concerts.
We end up waiting in line for over an hour, but the time passes quickly. She Who Books Things talks with Linda while I chat away to John. The conversation flows.
The journey to Lucca takes about thirty minutes. The driver drops us at the train station.
We have a quick drink at a nearby café before it’s time for Linda and John to go. We stand up and shake hands, then they leave.
The Debrief
“What a lovely couple!” she says after we sit down again. “You’d think they’d been together a lifetime, but they only met six years ago. It’s the second time around for both of them.”
“Really?” I say.
“She has two girls from her first marriage, and he has a boy and a girl from his previous relationship.”
“That’s a handful,” I say.
“She’s a substitute teacher. She also takes care of her mother who has dementia, so she’s run off her feet. She’s hoping to go part-time this year.”
“Well, you would, wouldn’t you?” I say.
“Linda says John’s ex-wife is a bitch and makes things very difficult for him. You know, with his kids and that.”
“That’s not what you want,” I say.
She looks at me.
“Didn’t John tell you any of this? You seemed to be getting on well together.”
“Yeah, he’s a nice fella,” I say. “He supports Arsenal. He’s been watching them since he was six. He goes to all their home games and some of their away games. He also goes to see England play.”
“Seriously?” she says. “You were talking about football that whole time?”
“No!” I say, mildly outraged. “Not just about football! We talked about other sports, too. He’s been to the British Open golf championship loads of times. His mate Ray does hospitality at big events, so tickets aren’t a problem. Gets him into the VIP areas and everything. He even met Tiger Woods one time!”
Real Stuff
She shakes her head.
“Didn’t you talk about any real stuff?” she asks. “Like, did you even ask him what he does for a living?”
I think for a second.
“He told me he’s self-employed. He said it helps when he needs time off for Arsenal’s away games.”
“You didn’t think to ask what he was self-employed as?”
“No,” I say. “If he’d wanted to tell me, he’d have told me, wouldn’t he? No point being nosey.”
“It’s not being nosey!” she insists. “It’s called being interested!” She shakes her head again. “I can’t understand how you can chat to someone for two hours and just talk about sport!”
A thought occurs to her.
“What was the photo he was showing you?”
I scratch my chin.
“It was the view from his seat in the Arsenal stadium. Great spot, too. Right behind the posts.”
“And then you showed him one?”
“It was the photo I took when we were on the wall above Pisa. The Pisa football ground one.”
“I’m not sure which is more unbelievable,” she says, as she stands up. “The fact that you took that picture in the first place or that you showed it to someone!”
She reaches for her suitcase.
“Right. Let’s go. Oh, hold on.”
She turns around and scans the surrounding area.
“What are you looking for?” I ask.
“I’m checking for floodlights. In case you want to take another photograph. You know, something you and the guys can talk about when you get home.”
“Funny,” I say, getting to my feet. “Very funny.”