the simple fact that I was spoken to didn’t mean I couldn’t slither furtively toward the westbound platform and be off on my way to getting stopped at the other end of the ride for not paying a fare (or — if I could avoid that — arriving too late to get my flight). The fact that the inquiring soul was a transport employee was what mandated a new plan.
So, I stammered something and was pointed toward the station manager’s hut where I pled my case — logically and with the required level of emotion — carefully laying out the nature of my cashless traveler’s plight. In other words, I bleated like a needy sheep (apologies to Jay Leno).
Well, the station manager was obviously a lover of mutton ’cause he — miraculously, as this does not happen in the United Kingdom — let me in.