Why I Don't Like People. Episode #928374

 Current Mood Warning: incensed/ashamed/incensed

Victoria Station. Platform 10. Waiting for my train to arrive. A couple stands next to me, young man and woman, both dark haired and both carrying several shopping bags. Both laughing at something. Going against my instincts, that whisper to me that a) they are Spanish, and not the nicest pair exactly, and b) I should run the further the better, I stay where I am, which is where I can take the most convenient coach for my platform at the Junction.

Just then, I start to catch what they are laughing at. They're laughing at everything and everyone around.

"Look, look at that one. She really looks like a whore, in this cold weather and looking like that?!"

"And she'll be thinking she looks so hot..." *insert crude comment about virility -which I personally question- and lack of attractiveness*

"And what about that guy...he looks like someone kicked his nose...maybe someone did, going out in that hair. Is that a wig??" 

And more merry laughing.This went on for about five minutes more.

Uff, I think to myself. Because my instincts had also warned me that they were, most likely, mocking something / someone, although I was hoping I was wrong.

Suddenly, She finds me there. I don't look back, just keep staring at the rails, because I don't like them and because they are mocking for the sake of it. As many others, one might think. True, but these two pieces are Spanish and I am being tainted by association.

"That one is Spanish," She says, apparently not realising that that one, as in me, is within hearing distance (or not caring, to be honest).  He looks at me. 

"Looks like she could be, but she hasn't looked. If she were Spanish, she would have looked at us already." 

"Trust me when I say that that one is Spanish" *she makes a gesture with her hand to catch my attention* "Eh! Eh tú!"

With all the calmness and British accent that I can muster, I finally look at her, confused. "Pardon?"

"Nothing, nothing" she dismisses me in very bad English, not even looking at me, and turning to her companion once again, smirking.

"Nah, you were right. She's an English bitch."(Nah, tenías tú razón. Es una inglesa gilipollas.)

I keep on staring at the rails, put my earphones on, and try to ignore the fact that the train is approaching and they are standing really, really close to the edge.