Call me weird if you like but I like taking the bus to work sometimes, usually for the same reason I like trains, and planes, it exposes you to a lot of life. I can quite happily sit there with my iPhone buds in, listening to Nicole Sherzingers Poison on a low volume and do a nice round of people watching on the way to work. On this one day I'm glad I did, because otherwise I would of missed something simple, yet heartwarming.
Now as you can imagine, every bus has its share of odd characters, you have your commuters like me, your heavily pierced students, the old couple going to visit the doctor, even your odd functional alcoholic who stumbles past with the unmistakable scent of whisky hanging about her slightly battered bag. But there is one chap who you cant help but notice, if only because you are trying not too.
I am going to call him Jim for a variety of reasons. One is that I am aiming for anonymity (so I cant get in trouble), another is that he has an uncanny resemblance to the actor who plays Jim Branning from Eastenders. Mainly it's because I don't know his real name, and it's too difficult to tell a story without one.
Now Jim is an older man who uses my bus. He walks with a pronounced limp, and always wears the same slightly stained anorak every time I see him. He shuffles along to his seat slowly after showing his pass with his head permanently looking to the floor. He has some mental problems too, though I couldn't tell you what exactly, he only lifts his head to say a rapid rehearsed sentence before letting it drop down to stare intently at his own feet. Whenever I see him it is usually in the company of a carer of sorts with a visibility coat on, and an official looking pass dangling at his waist. But sometimes I see him on his own, braving the cold and the rain to take the bus into town.
I sometimes like to pretend he has made an escape of sorts, and that maybe in the recesses of his slightly different mind he is having his own private adventure. I like that idea personally because I can see my own grandmother doing the same, and when I really look I realise there is not much difference in their ages.
Now on this one particularly cold and bitter day I was sat near the front of the bus and he at the back when the driver stopped in the middle of a busy main road. I could tell there was a single mum there with what looked like one toddler in one hand a pram in the other, which in turn was precariously balancing some bulging shopping bags. It was clear to everyone that she was having some trouble, trying to manoeuvre her various baggages onto the bus, and we were sat there for a while watching her struggle.
It was then that out of the corner of my eye I saw Jim get up!
He shuffled out of his chair and made for the door in his usual manner, with his head facing down and his hands brought up and knotted together as if in prayer. Without a word he reached down and picked up the bottom of the buggy to help the mum push it in and up the steep first step. The mother saw the obvious and tried to insist that she could manage, but bless Jim he wanted to be a help. He got the pram onto bus and even gave the girl some change when she started trying to fuss over her own purse. It was clear that she was speechless at the unsolicited help, but grateful. I distinctly heard the phrase "real gentleman" at which point dear old Jim bobbed his head and smiled at the floor.
It turned out that the single mum and her brood were only in need of a bus for 2 stops, and no sooner had she sat down, than she was up again. Jim was too, to help her on the way out. The girl was gobsmacked, as were a couple of other nameless faces on my bus, I was too as a matter of fact. One of the more gutsy students in the back row even clapped, at which point Jim lifted his head for a quick "Thank ya suh" before shuffling back to his seat again.
It got off the bus feeling surprisingly upbeat. When I thought about it, I knew it was because of Jim. I don't think he intended to give an old cynic like me some faith in the human condition, I think he just saw someone who needed help and helped them, probably the way he was taught to do when he was a boy in an old bygone time when such things were meant to be more common. I wondered about how we tell ourselves about how people like Jim are vulnerable, and need to be cared for. We then spend all our time gradually pretending they don't exist, safe in the knowledge the somehow, somewhere they are being looked after. Yet here he was helping a relatively capable, albeit overwhelmed woman without invitation or even an incentive of reward. It's a nice feeling to think that in some places, with some people that kind of behaviour is still considered a positive.
I am signing off today by saying that I believe we could all learn a lesson from the Jim's of the world, all we need to do is pay attention.
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