What you doin' with that seat?
What seat?
That seat behind your back.
I reach around and take it from him.
That's my mate's bike, I tell him, lying.
And then he goes on about how my mate shouldn't leave his seat unlocked, that dodgy people'll nick it - and the wheel too - and if not him then someone else, and he's had things nicked, it's just the way the world is. He's a bit whacked. His mate looks on and shrugs his shoulders, raises his eyebrows in agreement as if to say, I know he shouldn't be nicking things but what can you do?
We banter for a bit. Light-hearted. I'm not interested in being an ass with this guy: this is the way he sees the world and there's nothing much gonna change that. But I can't let him go without trying to impart a little something.
Come on man, I say, how do you think this guy's gonna feel when he comes back and sees his seat gone? You ever had a biked stolen from you? How did you feel?
Horrible, he says.
Well there you go. So why you wanna be putting that feeling on someone else?
He gets it - but it's all still fair games in his world. Oh well; maybe he'll think about it later - one day - in his old age - in the next life. I'm proud of myself for not getting angry with him: for doing the right thing by saving the seat, but also what I think is the right thing by him by not being an ass and still doing my best to remember that this dude's human, that the way he sees things and acts make total right sense to him.
Then the owner comes up, a young guy with nice headphones on.
Hey. What's going on here? What you doing with my seat?
I turn to him. But before I can say anything the thief starts blabbing about how him and his mate were riding by and they saw me and stopped me from nicking it. It's a joke.
That's your story? I say. After what we've just talked about?
But in his eyes and in his mind it's real - it's what he's got to do - this lying - and there's gonna be no convincing him otherwise. No point trying.
Go on, I say, and nudge him on his way, and let him know he's free.
Weirdly enough, I can kind of see where he was coming from. I'm terrified of getting caught doing something wrong too. And once upon a time, I would've said anything to get out of it.
I hand the seat back, briefly tell the gobsmacked owner the story, have a little chuckle, and leave him feeling grateful and lucky. Nice chap. Funny incident. And then off to football.
Football's fun. Lots o' goals, lots of great saves (by me). We hammer the other team. And then we have a little mini-game at the end where one of ours changes for one of theirs. We have plenty of chances but our striker don't seem able to score. And the guy we've inherited - who's gone in goal - is playing like he still wants his old side to win. Sonofabitch. As usual, when it's over, I feel like saying something about it. I always say shit like that, feel a need to point out when someone's done crap. An' I done it with this guy a few times before. So I bite my tongue. But then another player mentions how the guy that switched from our team must've been the lucky mascot and I think, no, not having that, everyone must realise and know: "more like secret agent G- in goal for us," I say, like an ass. And I remember that all the way home.
Half-way home I come cycling past the school while a crowd are coming out from probably some school play or something. I go careful past them. But then one family of three bursts out from between some cars without looking - not the grownups, not their little girl - and I have to swerve to avoid them. Unfortunately the little girl - well, she's maybe nine - panics and runs in the direction that I'm swerving and we have a very slight bump. She don't hit the ground or nothing though and she's okay. I stop and turn and say, are you all right? Are you sure? Must've been a bit of a fright eh? And then I go merrily on my way. Somewhere in there I'd observed a voice that would've wanted to berate them and get irate and say, hey! watch where you're goin'! but - well, there's no point in that. Prime concern is her feelings. Is making sure all are well. Is not being a critical ass when there's no need. I've done good there. And I remember that all the way home too.
The next day I go to the dentist to have a crown fitted. And after that I cycle down Brixton Hill, buy a six-inch sub from Subway and have a bit of banter with the guys in there. Sometime after that I get something wrong and that's my second "bad" but I can't remember what it was. Oh well: like everything, I suppose it doesn't matter. I guess it wasn't such a major slip.
The next day though, while I'm watching golf, roommate Tom berates me for using his ketchup, says it's a real "dickish" thing to do. Wow, I hate that he's said that to me - get all violently reactive inside, become unable to say anything that isn't filled with anger. I go quiet instead. But he continues to push me and I vent some spleen. It's all ridiculous. I remember that for a long time too, and don't like myself for it. Wish I could keep my mouth shut sometimes.
Two good, three bad. The bad things avoidable, pointless, leave me sad and unhappy. The good, nice, natural, smiley. My desire: to be that always. But hard, so hard...
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