Standard Procedure The guy on the barriers was talking to a young lad about his ticket. "So you've been robbed?" asks my colleague. "What?" "You just told me someone stole your ticket so you had to get this one. Is that right?" "Yeah." My colleague gets his phone out: "Well, in that case I have to call the police." "What?" "You've been robbed; it's a crime. I have to call the police." "Alright, that didn't happen." He puts his phone away. "How old are you?" "16." "Why are you travelling on a child ticket?" (If you're 16 or more you're counted as an adult on the railways.) "I always do." Yours truly pipes in: "That's illegal." My colleague backs me up. "It's an invalid ticket." "It's a felony." He looks bewildered: "What happens now, then?" That wonderful moment, when you look into a passenger's eyes and know they expect a fine. Glorious. My colleague spoke before I did: "I have to lock you in the booth." He gets up and stands outside the booth, gesturing for the lad to step inside. How did this guy buy his story: "For how long?" "Three hours. Why, do you have somewhere to be?" I still don't know how I kept a straight face. "Yeah, I'm late for college already." "What do you study?" "Sport science." "You gonna be manager of Chelsea?" "I dunno." My colleague sighs, deep in thought. My gut is stinging from holding in the laughter. "Tell you what I'll do," he says, the moment of judgment imminent, "you become manager of Chelsea, give me free tickets, and no one needs to hear about this." The kid's face was a picture.