Bad Manners

I cleaned my old gun today. It's been a few years since I used it. I hope it still works, it has to work. I need to go out, there's not enough food left. I need to go out and face them but this time, I swear to god, this time, they better not stare.



*********



It started quite innocently as these things often do. Although "these things" makes it sound like some menial, everyday occurrence. I was in a train heading home after one of those interminable meetings where ambitious suits spend hour upon hour outwitting each other with meaningless questions and pointless drivel. I hadn't actually enjoyed my day at work, who does? It was something of a relief to settle down in the train with a coffee and a newspaper. Even better, I had a table to myself. No snivelling infants, canoodling couples or drunken losers trying to become your best friend between stops. This time I had my own space, the carriage was damn near empty. Until she came in that is...the first of them.



She sat down at the table diagonally opposite and facing me. I like to face forward in the train, you can tell what's ahead, what's coming. Never understood why people want to focus on the past, irrelevant and pointless, maybe it's a metaphor for their lives, I chuckled to myself.



We were happily trundling through the central belt. Broken down factories and car parks with no cars. Row upon row of houses with no curtains but new satellite dishes and gardens which resembled downtown Baghdad after a bit of shock and awe. It was slowly getting dark and the lights were on in the train making the outside world even darker. I could see her reflection. I noticed she was staring at me.



Now, don't get me wrong, I'm no Brad Pitt but then again I'm not totally repulsive. Generally though, I think I am just average, non-descript, run of the mill, mid-forties partial to the odd bit of junk food, kind of guy. It's certainly not every day that a woman stares at me. Okay remain calm, look cool I thought. As I was effectively looking out the window, there didn't seem any way she would see me staring back so I had time to assess her reflection. She wasn't half bad either. No fashion model that's for sure but with a mid forties, well groomed, older woman look that was quite attractive. She was still staring, blue eyes focused on me under that bottle yellow bob.



Now this is where things got difficult, what should I do? Turn and wave? Too crazy. Stare back? Too dangerous. Nonchalantly turn and make eye contact, that seemed like a plan. I turned, expecting her to instantly turn away... got you. She kept staring. Honest to god, blatant as you like. I smiled but she didn't. She was still staring but not seductively or provocatively. She looked....well confused. She looked like she was trying to focus on me but couldn't quite get it right. Her eyes were slightly screwed up and her dull red lips were parted in concentration, as if she was about to say something.



Okay, I thought, that explains it, you've got something on your face, dirt, food, a spot or some other unmentionable human detritus. I quickly rubbed my chin and subtly felt around my nasal area. Nope, no large passengers there. No sign of any angry spots ready to explode on an innocent bystander. She was still staring and whatever it was she was looking at, I didn't want it on my face. Time for a visit to the toilet. Not my usual hangout, a train toilet. Quite what it is about public toilets that give folk carte blanche to piss, shit and generally extrude anything anywhere is quite beyond me but in trains you are looking at the pinnacle of toiletry incompetence. Still no need to look down, just a quick check in the mirror and out again, at least that was the plan.



When I got there it was occupied. That was bad for two reasons; one, I had to hang about outside and god forbid I might even hear the occupant in action and two, no doubt when I did get in, there would be a wonderful fresh aroma of excrement, something to look forward to. Luckily my wait was short lived as the previous occupant, a fat, bald guy emerged tucking in his shirt. All false smile and embarrassed shuffling in the corridor. I could tell he was embarrassed, he had that guilty, didn't think it would be quite that bad, should have saved that for home, kind of look, but it got worse. As he passed he seemed to notice something of particular interest in the area of my forehead. I swear to god he stood there and stared at me from about six inches. He didn't move, he was transfixed.



I pushed past convinced by now that I had large cancerous growth between my eyes, something red and burrowing. Maybe the skin was stretching as larvae grew underneath pushing for a way out. I slammed the door on him and turned to view the waiting horror.



There was nothing, receding hairline, slightly too big nose. The odd scary eyebrow hair but nothing to provoke any kind of surprise or even disgust. I poked and prodded the skin looking for a lump. I checked my nose and ears for protruding bits. I brushed my hand through my hair looking for small (and large) creatures but other than a couple of loose grey hairs, nothing. I looked closer at my eyes, blue but not the brilliant blue of Hollywood more the dull grey blue of the Southend sea front on a cold September morning. A few crusts of dust and a couple of exploded blood vessels gave them the usual lived in appearance but no horrors. Nothing out of the ordinary. Presumably it, whatever it was, had detached itself earlier. I checked again in the mirror but nothing, except, well a brief shimmer. Something like a heat haze on tarmac in the summertime seemed to move across my face. I blinked and it had gone. I couldn't be certain, maybe I was just imagining it. I headed back to my seat.



Mr Stink had gone but Mrs MILF was still in her seat. Thankfully, when I arrived back, she appeared to be happily entertained by a copy of Cosmopolitan. I settled back down to my now, cold cup of coffee and the daily newspaper which seemed to have stretched the definition of the word news to encompass gossip and speculation. When I looked up she was staring again. Now, I'm not the worlds most forthright person, anything for an easy life is my motto. This, however, was ridiculous. This was just rude.



"Sorry but can I help you?"



"What?" She appeared surprised, even slightly confused.



"You were looking at me, I thought maybe you wanted something."



"Looking at you? Me? I don't think so." She said disdainfully.



"You were staring, earlier and again, just a second ago, right at me."



"I....I was staring...at you? Who do you think you are George Clooney? I've got some bad news for you if you do. Now, if you don't mind I am trying to read."



And that was it. Now that's exactly why I normally don't get involved. Start off holier than thou, end up like some beaten dog who's just chewed a favourite slipper. What was really galling though, was that she was still staring. All through our "conversation" and beyond she carried on staring. The confused glance was still there, the quizzical, glazed look, the stare, unbelievable.



"Look if there is something annoying you, can you please just tell me?" I pleaded this time.



"Oh, not this again, look if you don't stop bothering me, I will call the guard!"



She was still staring. Un-fucking-believable. Whilst continuing to deny everything she maintained that stare. I couldn't believe it. My already low opinion of my fellow passengers on planet Earth just descended another few rungs. I gathered up my stuff and angrily stood up, time for a new carriage. She didn't acknowledge me as I left. No look of satisfaction or disappointment, she just kept staring.



I moved into the next carriage which was occupied by a few more people and grabbed the first unoccupied table I could find. Opposite me were a couple of businessmen, designer shirts, ties slightly undone, copy of the Financial Times poised. Diagonally opposite were two women. Mother and daughter I presumed, fresh from a shopping trip to the big city going by the number of bags on the chairs beside them and in the next table down a family, mum, dad and two kids.



They were all staring at me.



******



That's how it started. I got off at the next stop after trying to hide behind the paper for the remainder of the journey. The station was just about empty but everyone, and I mean everyone I passed stared. Some with fixed glances, some with double takes, some almost tripping over as they turned to look but, one way or another, they all stared. I tried to ask again but got the same bemused reaction from all of them.

When I eventually got home I went straight to the bathroom, showered and scrubbed everywhere and everything. I threw my clothes in the washing basket and stood dripping, staring at myself in the mirror. Nothing, unless...again there seemed to be a faint shimmer, a thin veil descended and then lifted. I dropped my head into the sink and splashed some cold water onto my face and into my eyes, blinking to clear any debris. I looked up and it had gone but again I wasn't sure there was anything. Just my mind playing tricks to try and explain the bizarre reactions earlier.

I resolved to forget about it and put it down to tiredness. Maybe they hadn't been staring, maybe it was all in my head. I tried to sleep but kept seeing the blonde woman and that curious grimace as she stared at me.



Things went from bad to worse after this. The next day, Saturday, I had to go shopping. A trip to the local supermarket. Big mistake. Everywhere I went, they stared. The newsagent, the grocer, the young goth in the record store. I couldn't take any more and retreated back home. Even on that journey I saw drivers turn to look at me as they passed. A whole bus full of passengers all following me with their eyes.

And so it went on, everywhere I went, everything I did was met with a series of vacant confused stares. I took to wearing hats, sunglasses, scarfs but nothing helped, they still stared. I challenged, questioned and shouted, they still stared. Until, eventually, I cracked in the supermarket. It was always so busy at peak times and I wanted to avoid people if possible, so I resorted to an early morning visit when it was usually much quieter. Not quiet enough though, there were still enough starers about. Fellow customers would stop half way through picking up the latest product to stare as I passed by. People who were having conversations would simply stop talking until I had moved on.

Eventually, at the checkout, I cracked. I put my stuff on the belt but instead of scanning it the young girl behind the checkout just sat there and stared. That same grimace, the pout, the eyes, that same look of curiosity. In a fit of rage I shouted at her, she called security and they all just stood there staring at me. I ran in tears from the shop and I haven't left home since.



Now I need more food. I need to go out and face the music, except there is no music, only silent, staring faces. This time though I have a friend. I used to do a bit of Clay pigeon shooting so the old shotgun which was gathering dust in the attic is coming with me. I am shaking, I am frightened but I am ready to show them. After all, don't they know it's rude to stare.