by Paul Dodson
"I slept with all of 'em", she said almost nonchalantly, applying a touch of lippy with the aid of a small hand held mirror.
"All of 'em?" her friend replied, in a squeaky, high pitched tone.
"Yep, every one of 'em." This had potential.
"Bollocks?"
"No seriously, I did. But here's the thing ..." And with that, the fatter of the two lent forward and broke into a whisper.
"WHAT'S THE THING?" I felt like screaming. An initial reaction we can probably all relate to. I felt a little like a Days Of Our Lives fan with an impromptu case of broken TV aerial-itis. Eavesdropping foreplay followed by the death in the family phone call was what it was, pure and simple. Where was the juice, the discourse main course? I hungered for more.
I tried my darndest to catch the rest of their depraved dialogue but my attempts were futile, even a little pathetic if I'm honest. I attempted the tried and trusted 'dropped pen routine', I even made a play with the 'I must tie my shoelaces in a strung out, bordering physically disabled manner', but all to no avail. The rest of their conversation was private and it was something I would just have to live with.
Perverse, probably, but in my defence the London Overground is made for eavesdropping. In the majority of cases, your average commuter has little or no say in the matter. And if we're virtuous, there's not too many of us out there who doesn't enjoy a little in your face voyeurism.
I've made an art form of eavesdropping. The key is to pretend you are preoccupied. That the pathetic lives of some nobodies sitting opposite are of no particular consequence to you in your high powered world. Occasionally screaming at an imaginary broker on your mobile phone will do no harm to your cause. Be careful not to go to far though, as valuable content can be lost during these fanciful encounters. Trust me, I speak with the voice of experience.
It's important to remember the uninitiated will always come unstuck - it's all part of the learning curve. Don't give up, though. Like a totally forgettable first sexual experience, the key is to get back on quickly and, over time, master the skill. I've got a couple of tips, but training can only take you so far. A flair for innovation and a cat shit on carpet-like persistence are the ingredients to get you over the line.
So here goes. Many a novice has come unstuck by paying too much obvious attention to the conversation going on within earshot. Direct eye contact should be avoided at all costs. The key is to blend in with your surrounds.
Use props if you feel the need. Newspapers, although stereotypically typecast in many seventies detective series, are still a valid form of cover, especially on trains. But avoid cutting eyeholes through the front-page faces to gain a view. Remember that sound is the key, visuals are an added bonus.
Wearing headphones with no tunes on the Walkman is an imaginative ploy I've used in the past that provides the conversationalists with an unjustified sense of privacy. Tapping your foot in time to a mythical beat adds to the illusion. Singing out loud looks stupid at the best at times and should not be attempted. Ever.
Learning from others' failures is a good way to sharpen your skills and, in time, enhance your resolve. Some of the clumsier eavesdroppers amongst us will admit to the cardinal sin of adding their own comments to what is, quite obviously, a private conversation. In no situation feel the need to do this. Unless expressly asked for your opinion on a matter, do anything to retain your anonymity.
Unfortunately not all attempts at eavesdropping on trains will pan out exactly as you'd like. The end of the line inevitability has always been a problem and although I've been known to miss my station to find out how Aunt Beryl's hip replacement operation panned out, this method can cause problems with missed appointments, broken dates and black marks on your personnel record at work. Use common sense. Decide early on if a conversation is worth any foreseeable inconvenience. If it is, go for it. If not, don't miss your stop. My best tip is: always err on the side of conservatism, but have fun.
As it panned out, this particular episode ended like a video broken by half an hour's snooze time.
"Six D cell batteries?" the skinny one asked out loud, wearing an expression miles beyond disbelief.
"Yep", her friend replied, "and d'ya know the weird thing, Joseph's father didn't even realise they were missing."
Paul Dodson is contributing editor of http://www.2camels.com and also shares his bizarre outlook on life at http://www.anaussieinlondon.co.uk and http://www.unimportant-man.co.uk
copyright © 2001 Paul Dodson