I was making the long trip down south to Cornwall by train recently. Where there are trains there are, invariably, train stations. When a man such as myself is forced to spend time in these public places, he does what every man does to pass the time.
He pretends he's a secret agent.
With earphones in, carrying a laptop shoulder bag and wheeling a large hold-all behind me, I navigated the busy platforms with cool precision. A determined, focused look, I moved with intent to the big screens, checked my time and platform, and gave a small nod to myself while pressing against one earphone as if receiving orders.
I then made for the toilets.
Rather inconveniently, these were located at the far end of a very long platform. I wheeled my bag down, maintaining my composed walk as if heading to a pre-determined rendezvous.
Emerging from the toilets, I moved to the coffee shop. I bought a coffee and a paper and refused several offers to purchase a delicious and overpriced pastry. It hit me as I was handing the money over.
I have left my bag in the toilets!
I had wheeled it in, placed it in the corner and then left without it, too lost in my imagination and distracted by thoughts of caffeine. Despite panicking I was cool on the surface when handed my change. I knew my mission. Reclaim the package.
Making my way across the bridge I considered the position I was in. There was a very real possibility that my bag was, at this minute, being destroyed by railway workers who will have noted an overly-serious looking young man who appeared to deliberately leave his bag. Chances were, my photo was already being circulated. This wasn't going to be easy.
Actually, it was. I made my way back down the long platform and into the toilets and there was my bag. However, I had re-emerged with a large bag that I hadn't previously been dragging along, that got the attention of the platform dwellers.
A lady looked at me knowingly. She had seen me go in without a bag and emerge with a giant hold-all. She didn't know I had left it there. She could only very reasonably assume I was a secret agent who had just made a collection. She looked at me with a sense of awe and bewilderment and I walked past feeling as close to a spy as I am ever likely to feel.
Moments later, I very nearly lost all composure. Waiting at my platform, I heard a shout from across the rails.
"Oi!! Leave that bag alone!"
Oh Christ! They're on to me!
I turned slowly to meet my fate, wishing I had one of those suicide pills that all the top spies have. That would show them. They'd never get a word out of me! I expected to see an armed police officer, maybe with a S.W.A.T. team behind him, something like that. What I did see was quite different.
A ragged-looking drunk man with a skin head and a can of stella.
"That's mine that is! That's me bag!"
He was shouting across the tracks and then ran over the bridge to reach the platform. He made his way over to a National Rail Worker who stood examining the bag left on the bench.
"You can't just leave it unattended" Warned the guard. "We'd have to destroy it."
"I was getting a bloody drink weren't I?!" Said the drunk man quite reasonably.
I had gotten away with it. My cover remained in tact. That man had left his bag for just two minutes while he went to get a nice can of beer. In a flash the guards had been upon it.
My bag was undetected for a good 10 minutes thanks to my forgetfulness. I had made the collection- and gotten away with it! I'm not in the habit of giving out terrorism tips on this blog as I feel that's a lousy thing to do. But they don't check the toilets much... just saying.
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