Man walks past. Glances in and sees that I’m not doing anything, so you can see his little brain flicker in to action as he thinks, “how can I disturb her moment of peace?” He eventually enters. He is French.
Man: Hi. Uh. I want to know … How… Can I find the National Portrait Gallery?
Me: Straight down this road, on the right hand side.
*That’s it, I’m done now. You’re only in here literally because you saw a chance to annoy someone*
Man: How far?
Me: 5 minutes.
Man: Thanks… So, what are you doing here?
Me: Selling theatre tickets.
Man: What does that mean?
Man: Like what?
Me: List here.
Man: What kind of stuff?
Man: What’s that?
Me: Theatre. Plays. Musicals.
Man: Oh. Like, do they sing?
Me: Sing, dance, act. It’s live theatre.
Man: Do they speak in French?
Me: They speak in English because you’re in England.
Man: At home in France they speak in French.
Me: Makes sense.
Man: Is your theatre like the theatre we have in France, people up on stage?
Me: The concept of theatre is the same worldwide. The particular show you are watching will be different.
Man: Oh yeah, I get it. It’s like France.
*10 seconds of silence*
Man: So… What’s good then?
Me: All of them.
Man: Yeah, that’s cool
Man: What else do you do?
Me: That’s it.
Man: Well… Maybe I’ll come back later.
Man: So… Straight down on the right?
*He goes to leave then remembers something*
Man: And ummm. What about the tube station?
Me: Oh do piss off.