Little Boxes!

It's better to give than to receive, but seemingly this doesn't apply to herpes! It is the season to be jolly, so why is everyone so stressed and miserable? We like our little phrases don't we? No matter how inane or bland or downright untrue they are. When losing the love of your life, aged only sixteen, how many people told you that there were 'Plenty more fish in the sea'? What do you think I am, a fucking cod? 'Too many cooks spoil the broth' Not true if you work in a busy kitchen. One cook will make a bollocks if left alone. You get my drift. Now, we use these platitudes to try make people feel better about situations or to advise, but are they of any use?

We like the one-size-fits-all remedies for life, just like we like to categorise people to fit them into nice little boxes. I try not to do this, but as I have written in previous blogs, I, like everyone else, do this from time to time. I myself am often labelled because of my work. But it depends on what part of my life you knew me. I could be Gez the joiner, social worker, writer, comedian, or lazy git! There are many more to add to the list, but I can't be bothered (lazy git!)

There have been two occasions this week where I have come across this pigeon-holing.

A woman was telling my wife that she had a new job, working with people with learning difficulties. She went on to say that someone had turned up to assess some of the clients, and everyone was a bit scared of the assessor, though she didn't say why. It seems that this person is very thorough, and not a person that you should mess with. As she went on to describe this officious jobsworth, it suddenly dawned on me that she was actually talking about my sister!

Anyone who knows my sister knows that she is the most fun-loving, loyal and easy going person you could meet. Yes, she is good at her job, because she is working to improve people's lives. If you only knew my sister socially you would agree with my description, but of course professionally she has to have a different persona. So which box do we put her in?

The other occasion was while I was waiting to meet up with someone this week who was running late. I do seem to possess a 'weirdo magnet' somewhere on my body: when I find out where it is secreted it's getting taken off! If I stand still for only a few minutes when I'm out and about someone will try sell me something I don't want or need, such as pet insurance or Jesus! Or someone will decide to tell me their life story.

This week, while waiting on a bench in the town centre a wizened old man sat beside me. He had a few dirty old bags full of what looked to be his worldly possessions. His clothes, of which there were many, were unkempt and dirty. His skin was was weather-beaten and wrinkled. The one tooth he sported had turned a nicotine shade of brown and danced alone in his mouth as he spoke. He fumbled around his clothing and produced a box full of old 'Tab Ends' that he had picked up from the floor and began to strip them down. The dirty little butts that were formerly someone else's nicotine fix were of different sizes, as he crumbled them all into one cigarette paper. He then proceeded to roll himself a cigarette. After taking a long drag on the vile-looking home-made death-stick he turned to me and said in a rasping tone, “Bit cold today, innit?”

This had to be the understatement of the year: it was freezing! I had all the modern hiking clothing on, and I was cold, so I have no idea how this old guy who was probably homeless survived such temperatures.

I agreed, and he went on to ask, as most people do this time of year, if I was ready for Christmas. I told him the usual reply that I give to everyone who asks me this question, that I'm not bothered about it. I dare not ask him the same question, as he looked like he was only ready for the mortuary. He went on to ask if I had a family and to be honest, to my shame, I was ready to stand up and walk away from him at this point. When he turned and said, “You don't recognise me do you?” I scanned his old and tired face, just to make sure it wasn't a member of my family that I hadn't seen for a while (you never know) then agreed with his prognosis: no, I didn't recognise him.He then went on to tell me just who he was, which came as a shock, as he had been at school with me. He wasn't someone who hung about with my circle of friends, but I did indeed remember him - though not as he looked right now.

We got chatting, and he told me how he had 'dabbled' with drugs. I think he was understating his dabbling! He had ended up on the street after losing everything he owned and loved. But things were now looking up for him, as he had a  little flat and was working as a gardener for a, 'nice old lady at Almondbury'. This man had a degree in economics and, at one time, a successful business.We chatted for a while about old times at school and people we knew. He did make me laugh a few times when mentioning people then adding, “Do you know he ended up being a right piss-head?” I think this is the most severe case of pot, kettle and black you could hear. I have to admit I really liked his company and enjoyed reliving a small part of my past with him.

What I thought was going to be an old smelly type trying to cop a few bob off me (beg some money) turned out to be a pleasant and quite refreshing chat with an old acquaintance. I eventually said my goodbyes and wished him well and hoped that he too had a very happy Christmas, then went to my meeting.

Later that day, when I was making my way back to my car I saw him looking in bins for.. Well, I don't know what he was looking for... I went into the nearest newsagents and bought him a couple of lighters and cigarette papers along with a super-dooper bag of tobacco. I walked over to him and gave him the little bundle of gifts (which will probably only add to his early demise) and wished him 'Merry Christmas'. He beamed a happy smile back at me and said, “Thank you, but I didn't want anything from you, in fact you gave me all I needed by giving me your time”. Just how lovely is that? He didn't give me my gift back though!

So ,what I thought was going to be a brief and slightly embarrassing encounter with some drunken halfwit, turned out to be a pleasant and eye-opening experience, with an old acquaintance.

Which just goes to prove that, 'You can't judge a book by its cover'.