The Workings Of The Warped

Please tell me I'm not the only filthy-minded little misfit out there. I know that to be polite you'll all nod your heads knowingly at what I'm about to say, then whisper behind your hands about what a deprived little freak I really am, but here goes anyway.

A couple of nights ago I was on the tram on my way home from work. Usually I view tram-time as a great opportunity to people watch. I'm a bit of a fantasist so I like to invent little scenarios to fill in the back story of people I know nothing about.

"That tall bird in the floral blouse, she lost her job two weeks ago and now just rides into the city each day to sit across from her old office to seethe with rage and plot implausible revenge scenarios. The goth kid in the stairwell with long hair and too many piercings, he aspired to be a high end male model until his dreams were dashed by the jock-brigade at high-school delivering him into the clutches of anti-conformity."

And so it goes for anyone who takes my eye, whatever the reason may be. Usually once I'm off the tram those people are forgotten about and life goes on for me and for them, even though it's not the life I plotted out for them in my mind.

The other day though, a guy got on the tram in the city and I started my usual scenario-planning. "Okay so he looks a little bit Forty Year Old Virginesque... I wonder if this guy really is a forty year old virgin?"

"Maybe he is, perhaps he's just dying to have a little action. He'd go alright too I reckon. Okay so he's not the height of fashion, but those black jeans and that navy T-shirt aren't totally out of place."

"He's tall and thin and naturally olive skinned. I wonder what he'd look like with those clothes off? Would he he be gentle and romantic or more of a rough assertive type."

"I bet he's got a hairy chest and despite his thin build he'd be pretty well hung."

On and on the internal monologue continued - then I changed gear from thinking filthy things about a total random stranger to worrying about his welfare.

"There's no wedding band on his finger, does he have someone waiting for him to get home? Is there a guy or girl at home cooking him dinner and watching the clock, counting down the minutes until he walks in the door?"

"Does he have kids, if so how many? Does he live with them or does he only get access to them every couple of weeks?"

"I wonder what he does for a living. Is he comfortably set up or struggling to make ends meet. Does he have any family anywhere? Is he away from home and does he miss it if he is?"

Before long I realised I was staring straight at this stranger on the tram. He wasn't looking in my direction so hadn't noticed me. I began to feel guilty that I'd thought such explicit things about him earlier.

I focused on the passing cars outside the tram window, but my mind kept wandering back to this man I knew nothing about. I wanted to know more but knew better of pursuing it.

My stop came up and I disembarked. The cold night air hit my face and crept in through my coat. I tilted my head into the breeze and began to stride home.

My tram ride was over, but this time the stranger on the tram was still puzzling me.

"Where was his stop? How far was his walk home? Who was waiting for him at the other end?"

And the most difficult question of all: "Does anyone ponder these things about me?"