Chance encounters – first published 24 April 2014

Almost every job I’ve ever had has involved a walk to work and, from time to time, I find myself on old work routes. They invariably conjure memories of the jobs that were once at the end of them and, occasionally, the characters I met along the way. In April 2014 I had a new route to work and was beginning to meet new characters, some of them stranger than others.

24 April 2014

Now I’m working Saturday’s Thursday is officially the new hump day. Today was another wet one, meaning a bus ride across the Big Bridge. That bridge is horrible in the wet and wind and that’s my only excuse. Still I weighed myself this morning and more than a pound has disappeared which is good. Well, as long as it doesn’t mysteriously reappear later anyway.

Something very odd was going on on the other side of the bridge when I got there. Homer Simpson was trudging through the rain on the other side of the road. Quite what he was doing there I don’t know, unless there’s a doughnut shop I don’t know about, and he was too far away for me to stop him and ask for his autograph but I did manage to get a quick snap just in case anyone doubted me. I’m pretty sure it was really him but he’s a long way from Springfield for sure.

Smiling to myself I carried on through the desolate park where there were large puddles to avoid. Along by the river the rain seemed to be easing, although the water was still rippled by raindrops. The man with the scary looking, friendly dog said hello as I passed and his dog sat for a pat on the head. Funny how you meet the same people every day on a walk like this and, even though you don’t know them, they become part of your life. Little exchanges that brighten a day, even if it’s wet and dull.

As I walked on I thought about all the other people from other walks to work. Back in the Busy Bees days an elderly man always tipped his hat and said ‘good morning’ to me on the bridge. One morning he stopped and said, “your smile brightens my mornings.” There was a lady with a Brummie accent I’d see going the other way on the way home too, we always smiled and said good evening or moaned about the weather as the English do. If I caught the bus I’d often speak to a lady who worked at the council offices, sometimes I still see her and we say hello but I don’t know what her name is.

At Dream Factory there was the singing cyclist who overtook me every morning on the bridge until the day a lorry, turning at the scary crossing, took her life. One of the firemen from the station in St Mary’s was often on his way into the station as I passed and would say hello. Sadly he died in a fire not long after the singing cyclist and it wasn’t until I read about it in the paper that I found out he lived at the top of The Crescent.

With Silver Helm I’d see a man walking his children to school at the end of the river path each day. His son always rode a little scooter and I wondered if the man rode it home again but I never asked. Then there was a lady who walked a big Doberman on the embankment. Now I’m leaving at a different time I don’t see either of them and I wonder if they miss seeing me? I guess that’s life in a city, we see the same people every day, we don’t know them and we hardly notice them until, one day, we don’t see them any more.

Anyhow, by the end of the boardwalk the rain had stopped and I paused to take a picture of a bedraggled dandelion amid the wet grass and a line of colourful cars on a train going under Horseshoe Bridge. Then it was on to the office and down to work. Today seemed to be a day for moaning about lost property. You’d be amazed at the things people leave on buses, phones, wallets, glasses, bags of shopping, keys. One woman had even left a wrapped birthday present and card, whether it was hers or bought to give to someone else I didn’t ask. Another was in tears because she’d left her bag and her passport was in it.

Often they’re grateful to be given the phone number for their local lost property office. Some, not so much. It never ceases to amaze me how angry people get when I say they probably won’t know if their property has been found until the end of the driver’s shift. They seem to think we have a hot line to every bus and the driver can just stop and have a look there and then. If the item isn’t found things can turn really nasty. Obviously it’s all our fault. Now maybe if they looked after their possessions a little better in the first place…

At lunchtime the sun had come out and I went for a walk. It has occurred to me that there are no street lights along the boardwalk and, in winter, it’s going to be very dark and lonely. With that in mind I walked down towards the level crossing where I knew I could come out on the road leading to the bus stop and the Big Bridge. There wasn’t time to walk all the way but I did at least discover it’s a viable alternative and only a little further.

The sun was still out when I left for home so I had a pleasant walk along the boardwalk and over the Big Bridge. I kept my eyes open for Homer Simpson but I didn’t see him again. Wonder where he went and what he was up to?

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