The Wolf and His Secrets
The man just across from me on the subway is wearing a pair of old jeans with what I only hope is wine stains. He has thin, shoulder-length hair combed back from a receding hairline, and obnoxious, bristly sideburns framing an unshaven chin. His mouth seems to be missing a few teeth. From one hand dangles a Systembolaget bag, emitting faint clinking noises. In the other, he holds a flashy mobile phone that would have looked more at home in the hand of a Stureplan brat.
The first time he uses the phone, I’m not paying attention. I carefully raise a hand to block the ear closest to him, because he’s veritably shouting, and I already have a headache. The second time, I simply can’t help but overhear his end of the conversation.
“HI, TOMMY! … TOMMY? YEAH, IT’S ME. IT’S THE WOLF!”
I block my ear again and catch the eye of the woman in front of me - who has just been whispering into her own phone - and we both roll our eyes and smirk slightly.
“CAN WE MEET UP? YEAH I’M AT… LET’S SEE WHERE THE HELL I AM…” He looks out the window. “I’M AT MÄLARHÖJDEN. I NEED TO TALK TO YOU. CAN YOU COME DOWN TO FITTJA? … I CAN’T TALK ABOUT THIS ON THE PHONE… I CAN’T TALK ABOUT WHAT I DID HERE, THERE ARE TOO MANY EARS AROUND.”
Now I’m very nearly laughing. Other passengers have turned around to see who the shouting whackjob is.
“YEAH, COME ALONE, I WANT TO TALK IN PRIVATE… OK I’LL CALL AGAIN IN BREDÄNG.”
I consider pointing out to him that if he wants to discuss secrets on a subway, he might want to do it in a voice less … carrying. I decide against it - for all I know, he’s a violent person who can’t talk about how he beat someone to death with a wine bottle. At the next stop, I stand up and move back through the train. Amusing as he is, I really don’t want to risk tinnitus.
Zeno may have been on to something when he discussed how loud people are these days. Given that I belong to what he calls the iPod generation, I can’t say for sure because I don’t have anything to compare with. However, I’m not convinced it’s only to do with mp3-players and such. Sweden is a very quiet, private place, where being loud in public is generally frowned upon. Hence the people who are the loudest are usually either the kind who spend most of their time drunk, teenagers, or from a different culture altogether.