Suggestibility
July 24th, 2005
A few minutes ago Lara and I got on the train back to London from Yorkshire. "God’s own country" as Stefan likes to call it. It’s been a good stay.
The train is looking busy, I think to myself as I help Lara over a pile of rucksacks, but we’ve got reservations so I’m not worried about that.
But what’s this? As I struggle down the aisle it looks like there’s someone in our seat: a townie looking guy with a Lee Stafford haircut. "Sorry mate," I tell him "these are our seats." He explains that no, although he hasn’t picked up his ticket from the conductor yet, he knows that one is resaved for him. I get my tickets out to show him the numbers, which is a bit awkward because I’m carrying Lara’s wheelie trolley as well as two of my own bags and the ticket wallet. And I’ve just said goodbye to my parents too, so the usual feelings of parting have yet to quite subside.
But just as I’m pointing out the seat numbers to him Lara nods down the carriage and says "come on, there are seats down there". This confuses me a bit because why would she not want to take the ones reserved for us? But she obviously feels some sympathy for the guy, and looks like she’s embarrassed to boot. Somehow, with the emotion, the awkwardness of the bags and my own embarrassment at holding everyone up, I’m not thinking quite straight, and this suggestible state I follow her hint and heave everything off down the aisle, knocking into knees as I go and generally feeling a bit flustered.
There are no seats down the end of the carriage.
It’s actually impossible to see if they’re occupied at all until we’re nearly next to them, and now I’m starting to think a bit more clearly I realise that there’s no way there would’ve been two together. I get annoyed at myself for not thinking of this earlier. And why would Lara suggest something that she couldn’t possibly have known about? Just because she was starting to feel awkward?!
We have to go back down the carriage again. I’m starting to feel very hot, but at least I’m alert enough to not bump all those knees again.
Lara takes a seat; I point out it’s reserved from Doncaster and she has to get up again. I ask her why she doesn’t want to move the guy. she says "there’s no point now" and my immediate thought is that there’s no logic to this, but she’s right. I’ve withdrawn from the confrontation and there will be no re-engagement.
A brief discussion ensues where I get no satisfaction whatsoever. Lara finds a seat and I take another across the aisle and then ask her again why she didn’t want to move the guy. She says something along the lines of "you’re probably going to get your laptop out and work like you did on the way up anyway" (which I did) and this hurts because, obviously, I like to sit together. It’s nice to be close even if we’ve both got our headphones on – I can squeeze her leg, or point out rabbits, or whatever.
But I don’t say this. Somehow it would be even more embarrassing. Her lack of reason doesn’t bring out my best side and I ask, pedantically, if she doesn’t want me to bother with reservations in future. She’s reaching for her headphones already, and if I felt like I wasn’t going to get any satisfaction earlier, I’m definitely not going to now.
I’m annoyed enough not to take the seat next to her when it becomes free a couple of stops later.
What’s really interesting about all this isn’t how I react to irrationality, or even some insight into the difference between sexes. To me it’s how quickly I can become suggestible. In a moment of stress – pretty light, in this case – I became less than optimal at processing what was going on. I don’t think it’s particularly unusual, and I might even be better than most at handling it, but still: for a moment there it was. Normal operation suspended; emergency sheep mode activated.
Like many (I suppose) I’ve imagined what it would’ve been like to get caught up in the tube bombs. I don’t imagine dieing, I think about what I’d do if I were on the periphery – down the other end of the carriage or something.
I’d like to think that I wouldn’t panic. That I’d be alert and capable and that I might even be able to help people a bit. But I wouldn’t. I’d be suggestible. I’d do what I was told; follow everyone else.
Who knows actually, maybe not. I can only hope I don’t get the chance to find out.
In the meantime although it’s impossible to know when it’ll happen again, next time I’m going to go with my instinct and damn the embarrassment.