29 April 2025
Took a seat at a table in the Pret near Dalston Kingsland station yesterday to decompress after my shift. After only a couple of minutes, a sunburnt woman in a winter coat with tousled hair dragging a heavy suitcase and mumbling to herself about the heat sat down next to me and started talking at me about how to find places with air conditioning in London during the summer. She saw my sketchbook, which was underneath my phone and wallet on the table, and asked what kind of art I made, so I told her, and then she began to scoot closer to me while she lowered her voice into a whisper to tell me that she was a multifaceted designer and that we could make money together if I was interested in collaborating. I respectfully declined, at which point she made a move with her hand at my wallet. I kind of surprised myself at how fast I deflected her hand and quickly packed my things as the strangeness of the situation reached a climax with her throwing her head back to laugh at the exchagne. This kind of scene was apparently not so out of the ordinary for this Pret, because none of the staff budged as I made my way to the bathroom, which is where my instincts took me to escape the situation and collect myself. Took a few deep breaths in a stall and then exited into a communal hand washing area that also doubles as a hall for people waiting to use the stalls. I went to look in a mirror at a sink and a different woman—gaunt wearing a gray hoodie pulled over her head—bent down next to me so her face was level with mine. She said something that sounded like “You could've been quicker,” so I responded with “Sorry?” to which she said “I accept your apology” in a pretty Gollum-y tone. I replied “No, I mean what did you say before that?” and she responded with “I accept your apology” again, this time bringing her face even closer to mine. I peeled away and pushed past her out of the bathroom, out of the Pret, and back into the current of a beautiful Dalston day.