“–No you listen to me–”
“–You’re the one not listening. I’m trying to explain–”
The voices filtered through to me as I waited in the no mans land behind the ticket barriers in Liverpool St Station.
Two men stood on either side of a glass barrier, locked in their disagreement. It was impossible to gather the details of their argument because they were both talking over each other – something to do with Man 1 not carrying ID for his Oyster card. Man 2 towered above him, at least 6’6″ and clearly in a position of authority, though he wasn’t wearing a uniform.
“Give me your badge number. Your badge number,” said Man 1.
“Zero three two seven,” said Man 2.
They carried on arguing. Then Man 1 took out a notebook. “Now, give me your badge number.”
“I’ve already given it to you and I’m not giving it again. You had your chance.”
They went back and forth like this a few times before I went over and interrupted them, repeated Man 2’s badge number for Man 1. He still didn’t write it down.
Man 2 turned to me, 6’6″ of buttoned up rage.
“Can I ask you a question? What business is it of yours?”