When the Eurostar arrived in Paris I gathered my possessions (though somewhere along the way today I predictably managed to lose my sunglasses. I have thus lost or broken four pairs of designer sunglasses this year. This is why I mustnÂ’t be allowed to have nice things) and headed to the luggage rack to collect my suitcase. There was a man in front of me clearly intent on doing the same thing, and then ahead of him, the other side of the sliding doors was a middle-aged Asian woman who appeared to be waiting outside the toilet (right by the luggage racks). Now the Eurostar trains are pretty swish and unlike the trains in Belgium the toilets do not consist of merely a hole that leads down on to the tracks, but I still wondered whether this lady should be wanting to use the loo whilst we were actually in the station.
Then I noticed that the toilet door was open and thus the lavatory was unattended, which made her decision to stand outside it, waiting, appear a little dubious. The man in front of me clearly felt her behaviour was odd. He opened the sliding door and gave her a look as if to ask what she was doing and (even though it was clearly nothing) could she stop doing it and let him get to his luggage, so that he could get on with his trip to the cultural capital of Northern Europe (you know, after Liverpool).
She, however, just stared rather vacantly at him. Moments of confusion passed as nobody seemed to quite understand what was going on. Then, just as the sliding door started to automatically close the ladyÂ’s legs buckled and she slid rather gracelessly to the floor, her head hitting the now almost closed door on the way down. She was quite small and came to rest rather neatly in the bottom space of the baggage rack as if she were some kind of strange comatose woman shaped piece of luggage. Which someone had rather disgustingly crammed full of human blood, human entrails and human internal organs.
She was the second person that I had witnessed collapse this year. The first was the fella in Brighton who couldnÂ’t stand to hear my stories of penile damage, but no-one had been talking to this woman about genital mutilation (well not as far as I know) and the manner of her descent had been quite alarming and her eyes seemed to be rolling around a bit now, so it was all a bit worrying and frightening.
Being British, me and the bloke in front didnÂ’t really know what to do. He rather lamely started shouting up the carriage for help, whilst I rather more lamely did nothing. His wife came over and then she took up the challenge, by shouting for help as well, but in the other direction. Still the little lady lay under the luggage rack and I wondered if she was dying and thought about ringing for some help, but realised I didnÂ’t know what the number was anyway. I was, as you can see, being very helpful. But at least I hadnÂ’t just barged through to get my suitcase, which was in the rack above the space that was now occupied by a small woman.
The manÂ’s wife managed to attract the attention of one of the employees of Eurostar who came to have a look into the commotion, but the moment she arrived, the little prostrate Asian lady suddenly snapped out of her faint and came too.
Confused or embarrassed she started to scramble rapidly to her feet, unaware of the rack above her. The English couple tried to warn her, but in English and I don’t think she understood, or at least she managed to bang her head again in the hurry. It didn’t bother her too much. She was suddenly animated and nimble and was back on her feet. The Eurostar hostess took her outside to get some fresh air and me and the marginally less useless, though still of no effective use, man in front were finally able to drop the mantle of heroism that we had both adopted and express our shock. “That was a bit frightening,” he said.
“Terrible,” I mouthed feebly.
I hope no-one ever collapses in front of me when I am the only person in the vicinity as I have no idea what to do to help them. All I learned today is that if this happens, then probably within a couple of minutes the person will probably spring back to their feet and be basically OK again (though maybe with a couple of bumps on the head). So that is the course I will follow the next time.
I guess itÂ’s a good job that I am unlikely to be put in charge of any hospitals any time soon.
