Just in Passing

A view from the east of Edinburgh, looking at the hill known as Arthur's Seat, from the Megabus between Edinburgh and Sheffield.

Today I spent 9 hours, give or take, in transit. At one point, my bus arrived into the town wherein I was to switch buses, but there was no driver for the next leg of the journey. That miniscule detail got overlooked by the company's logistical staff...

Any rate, by the time I got into Sheffield, I was absolutely ragged out. I'd had a few digestive biscuits (wholemeal cookies) with nutella on them for breakfast, and a sip from my water bottle here and there all day, but otherwise I was completely undernourished, and given that I'm about to leave the UK again, I'm under a bit of emotional duress. I got my bag and guitar onto the train and stowed away and dropped down into a seat that faced another pair of seats across a table. Sitting directly across from me was a blonde girl that I would guess to be in her late teens, and between her and the window, a brunette girl somewhere between mine and the blonde's ages. The younger, the blonde, was on the phone with one or the other of her parents, explaining that she'd lost her rail card, and might be getting fined for travelling without a ticket. When she hung up, exasperated with the situation, she and I compared notes: further destinations, travel complications up to that point, current funds available, hunger pains... She then got on the phone with her other parent, and I simply continued the conversation with the brunette, whom we'll call Teresa to protect the innocent.

Teresa, it turned out, had no previous acquaintance with the bubbly young girl next to her, hadn't spoken much with her in the intervening time on the train with her, but was changing at the next stop to head into Nottingham, like myself. I carry a pad of genuine John Deere post-it notes in my backpack, and as we pulled in to Derby, where Teresa and I were alighting, I scribbled a note reading 'Better Luck...Jeff' and put this here web address down, and stuck it on the table in front of the young blonde. We smiled, I grabbed my things, and left the coach.

Teresa and I made it onto our final train, located an empty pair of seats with ample baggage storage, and settled in. 'Oh,' she said, 'before I forget- after you left, the other girl gave me this for you...' I was expecting a note reading 'thanks', but instead, found 3 pound coins in my hand. 'She said it was so you could get a sandwich.' I don't even know this girls name, hadn't actually introduced myself, but I'd mentioned I was hungry, and had all of 75 pence on me. She was very nearly equally broke, and facing a potential fine of well more than the average train ticket, but managed to find enough money to buy me a sandwich.

When I was in France, my friend Celine and I watched the Bill Murray movie 'Broken Flowers', and we both hated it. The only redeeming scene was when Bill's character meets who he thinks might be his son, and tries to non-chalantly buy him a meal. The boy asks why and Murray's answer is classic, and as a backpacker, I really appreciate it: 'I'm just a guy that can tell when a guy looks like he needs a sandwich.'

I was touched, this evening, by this tiny act of overwhelming generosity from a girl who only knows my name because I scribbled it on a sticky note. I don't know your name, but if you happen to be reading this, Thank You.

And Thank You, Teresa, as well. I know I said so on the train, but I really appreciate your open ears and honest prayer(s). Rarely do you meet someone only in passing who genuinely takes an interest in your well-being. You salvaged my day. Thanks.