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:: Thursday, September 06, 2007 ::

Old Folk

I had a lot to crap to carry into work on the bus on Monday, including a laptop, my camera, the remains of a fruit salad in an ice-cream tub that decided HAD to be kept upright, etc. Staggering out of the door laden with all this I round the corner to see the cheap bus disappearing past the end of the road. Bugger.

Sometimes two of the cheap busses come along at once, so I risk waiting for the next one and let several of the extortionately priced First busses go past. 35 minutes later (no one can say I don't have patience!) the next friendly blue South Gloucestershire Buses bus pulls up. I get on to find none of the usual familiar faces and far less people looking like they are on the way into the office. An interesting ride with the people who don't have 9 to 5 jobs and are also willing to wait around for ages to save two-pounds-ninety on the bus fair.

The spacey seating area at the front intended for push-chairs, wheelchairs, the elderly, pregnant etc, is empty and seems to be the only area I can get to without emptying fruit salad into my bag, so I sit there. A couple of stops later and an old lady in a jacket that looks like an orange eiderdown gets on. She has a walking stick with a trigger operated grabber on the end, and is heading straight for me. I shuffle and rearrange my odd collection of personal possessions to make as much room for her as possible. She sits next to me and I get a fait waft of cigarettes.

Happy that she is comfortable I resume staring out of the window. I would normally read a book but economised on what I was carrying believe it or not. As I watch Gloucester Road flash by I feel the old lady tug my elbow. I turn and she is holding a letter with an appointment time on it. She points at it and says something I can't quite make out about going for a hearing test. I read the time and glanced at my watch. "Plenty of time," I say, "you'll get there nice and early." Hoping that this covers all bases of answer any question she may have been asking or just filling the void of small talk if that's what she was after. She agree and then tells me a bit about her hearing test and which ear she has problems with etc. Eventually she puts the letter away and we both resume staring ahead.

With the next nudge of the elbow I find she has produced another letter, this one from a travel agents. She proceeds to tell me about a holiday booking for Butlins in Minehead (presumably not for ATP). "That's nice. Are you looking forward to it?"

Later she nudges me again and I turn to find she has produced a lanyard from around her neck that reads "I AM HARD OF HEARING. PLEASE LOOK AT ME WHEN TALKING TO ME SO I CAN LIP READ." Was I not doing this already? I notice she isn't really looking at me anyway. I resort to saying yes and nodding a lot as I'm not sure how well she can follow me. She proceeds to tell me about her cataract. "Well, at least they can reuse those a lot more easily now." She then tells me about her average day and about some job she does when she gets home in the evening, details of which are sparse and exactly when she does all through the day is equally unclear.

On the next nudge I turn to find a plush horse toy in my face and involuntarily recoil from it. She strokes its mane and tells me it keeps her company because she gets lonely. She takes it with her everywhere. She sleeps with it. And she also has more teddies at home. The horse eventually gets put away and my palpitations subside.

When we get near the hospital I help her up to get off. She shuffles along and someone else helps her down the step to the pavement. She stands there are waves me off as the bus pulls away and I wave back, smiling at her.

I feel bad that that may be the most social contact she'll have all day, and I effectively tried to avoid as much of it as possible. I tell Mrs P about it later and she gets depressed. "That's what your nan is like you realise." No, my nan is far crazier, and I love her for it.

"I'll be like that too, if I ever get old," Mrs P points out. (Whether she will ever make old age has been a running dark joke since the insensitive vicar at her mum's funeral happily made light of it in small talk and proclaimed, "The women in your family do die young don't they!")

She mimes. "'This is my cabbage patch kid. Her name is Louise. I have an adoption certificate for her. I have it her somewhere' rustle rustle 'This is the sock Henry chewed. Henry was our dog.'" At least she's ready for it.

Labels: Humour, Personal

:: Dan 6.9.07 [Arc] [1 comments] [links to this post] ::
...

Comments:

Well, now I feel less alone in the world. I am always being accosted on the #24 bus stop in the centre when I am waiting for the bus home from the library. The last time involved avoiding telling an old chap that I was reading a book about African American men and their penis'.

# posted by  Natali : 6/9/07 10:05 PM

 

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