Mind the gap - the real story

Earlier today I was telling one of the editors I work for about the time that I fell between the train and the platform at Wollstonecraft station. And then I thought since I’m in the process of reducing my client’s opinion of me, why not share the story with the internet. Maybe it’ll get picked up by a Hollywood producer and the next thing you know James Franco (in drag) will be dramatically wigging his way out from the gap. It’ll be bigger than that other real-life movie about the dude who lost an arm, only (spoiler alert) the only thing lost in my story will be my dignity. And a shoe.

But let me begin where it all started: on a Friday or Saturday night (can’t remember which), on a Wollstonecraft station platform filled with trendy people who were heading into town for a trendy night out. I was also in the company of trendy people – my then boyfriend (let’s call him James Franco – because that’s who I envision playing his role in the movie. James Franco will be playing all of the roles in the movie) and a group of his friends.

A little background: as far as I could tell at least two members of this group of friends thought I was as interesting as a table leg and as conversationally gifted as an autistic pinecone. So I was out to impress and prove just how magnificently I could converse. Unfortunately when I get nervous I just throw awkward non-sequiturs and interject heavy, sweaty pauses into otherwise trendy conversation, so I wasn't doing the greatest job.

A little about the station: there is a very large, roughly human-sized, gap between the train and the platform. There are plenty of signs and audio announcements warning passengers about this GAP.

Aaaaanyway the train pulled up. And as I was stepping onto said safe, un-gappy, train, the heel of my left shoe couldn’t take the weight of my arse (the arse that would soon save me from falling all the way into the crevice) and bent inwards.

When combined with my alarming lack of coordination (I once fell up an escalator while standing perfectly still on it, and ripped a massive gaping hole in the back of my jeans) the snap was enough to throw me completely off balance and into the cavernous opening directly behind me.

Luckily some semblance of self preservation – the only thing that’s kept my kind from being wiped out by evolution – made me reach out with my hand and grab onto the floor of the train as I fell, slowing my descent. And then my arse, my feathery pillow of mass, wedged itself in the gap, leaving me dangling by my hips; feet – now missing one shoe – hanging helplessly over the train tracks, as people stared in shock, unable to move.

So with a wide, creepy smile – the kind of smile that says “no I didn’t just butcher my children, please come in for a cup of tea” in a kind of vaguely untrustworthy way –I wriggled my way upwards.

Before the crowd even managed to reanimate itself, I was brushing off dirt and trying to look as dignified as I could while wearing one shoe and bleeding from the knee. Luckily I had a spare pair of heels in my car and was so embarrassed by the whole fiasco that I happily jammed my drastically swollen foot into them and returned to the platform to catch the next train.

Roughly one hour later I had to be carried to a taxi.

I envision the end scene like this: James Franco carrying James Franco (in drag) in the kind of heroic way that fire-fighters carry damsels in distress out of burning buildings. The camera would pan in on James Franco (in drag), still smiling creepily. Suddenly a flash of realisation would visibly cross his features; he’d grab either side of his face and scream (a la Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone).

The End