Phone booth crush 2 min read

On the way home I’d pass this phone box by the railway station, and I’d ‘drop’ (put) my schoolwork/homework on the floor and pretend to be making a call, but making sure I didn’t step on my own stuff, myself…. And then when some young woman came along and was waiting for the phone (where they’d all ring home, or ring taxis in those days, no mobiles) I’d put down the phone and ‘accidentally’ leave my work on the phone box floor, acting like the line was engaged or like the box hadn’t taken my money.  They’d mostly be young office girls in their skirts and heels.

I’d stand outside the phone (which was kind of open on one side) and watch as more often than not they’d walk straight in without flinching and get right on with dialing up and chatting away…. Hardly ever did any of these ‘careless bitches’ bother about what was in the way of (and soon under) their feet, even on the times when the pages were pristine before they started treading all over them…. And I’d be waiting outside like I was queuing for another call, and if another woman came along and queued behind me then I’d let her go ahead, and she’d trample all over my work, too… and this could go on for ages, busy evenings, unless a man came along and then I’d go in ahead (where I was always front of the queue) and I’d pick up the remains of my stuff whilst ‘making my call’. On wet days, sometimes, there wasn’t actually that much left to pick up, where the mixture of wetness and fidgety stilettos doesn’t do much for paper! So then I’d have to find a way of moving it, carrying it, and letting it dry out a bit before….

No printers back then, of course. No copies.

And they just trod on it all. Even exercise books, complete, left opened up on the phone box floor – one young woman in particular completely covered one book in dirty bootmarks, from her high heeled boots, on more than just the two open pages, where she managed to kick it and ruck it up during about a half hour conversation with her boyfriend.