The Oxford Male
Our relationship truly was a journey: the passion was mostly unspoken, but from the moment our eyes met across a crowded carriage until he calmly stood up and walked away we reveled in each other’s company. Sadly, this is not a lazy writer’s metaphor, the time spent together was very literally a journey, Baker Street to Greenwich to be precise. Half an hour on the tube together and I was mentally naming our future children.
Whether I should have approached him or not became a matter of fierce debate among my friends. The yes side pointed out that I had nothing to lose: if it went badly I would never see him again, if I approached him and it worked, it would be a really lovely start to a relationship, it could be the start of something beautiful.
The no side arguments (many of them mine) were far less reasonable: what if he was a raging homophobe who smacked me, and left me as a crumpled pile on the floor? In my mind I had clearly made the right decision, and Tube Man was added to the long list of temporary loves such as Beautiful Hair Sainsbury’s Shopper. My reassessment of those weirdos who chat up strangers started just after a tube journey a few weeks later.
I marched out of Leicester Square station, and thirty seconds later, as I paced up towards Covent Garden, a voice to the right of me started: “Hello. What’s your name?” I turned to see a six-foot-two-tall rastafarian, with a wide round face and long black dreadlocks, addressing me. When it turned out that his name too was Dan, my suspicions grew. I politely explained I was in a hurry and walked away quickly.
After half an hour of forced company and small talk I realised he was not going to give up easily. Another hour later when I was finally getting on the tube home and saying goodbye to my new companion, I was giving Dan my number and considering possibly seeing him in the future. What made him a successful stranger? He definitely made some faux pas along the way, for example playing hide-and-seek with a slightly nervous twenty year-old, which failed to show off his positive qualities.
Dan did, however, have an eminently likable personality, was chatty, and knew that I was a sucker for compliments. On my tube ride home I was sat opposite a very handsome shaggy haired man, reading a book I had finished a few days previously. When the seat next to him came free I took my chance. With my heart in my mouth I made the move to sit next to him. Sadly, I bottled it.
The kids were raised and sent off to good redbrick universities but no words passed my lips, and just as quickly as I had found my new inspiration it disappeared. It looks like we divide down into camps. Firstly, those people who approach strangers rampantly, taking their dignity in their hands at every opportunity. Secondly, what I suspect is the largest group, are those of us who only dare to dream about doing the terrifying and actually chatting up a randomer.
And finally there are those who would not dream of making a move on anyone outside their circle of friends. What I am curious about is how we can switch camps, as being in the limbo state in the middle is frustrating. Hopefully my switch will happen at the right moment, or at the very least, before the fit one who works on the tills at WH Smith quits.
1st Jun 2006