I once had a chap at Reading run up as I was closing my local door, pull it open, shoulder-barge me out of the way (knocking me over), jump on, and run down the carriage. I picked myself up, dispatched the train, and walked down to the buffet counter, where the guy was buying his Stella.
He says "What time do we get to Didcot, mate", to which I replied "Wrong train, MATE, first stop Exeter, two hours time!". I then spent the next 10 minutes behind the bar listening to the guy in the phone to his Mrs, who was obviously not happy, and planning on being the next "contestant" on Jeremy Kyle with him. She also spelt doubt on his parents marriage, his performance in bed and general physical prowess and endowment.
His face was an even bigger picture when we arrived into Didcot, which was our next stop. He called me several names, but they were nothing to what his Mrs had called him!