I love it when life throws up a little mystery or two for me to mull over.Margaret at Eyespi20 mentioned one the other day. A guy pulls into her car park at 7.00am every morning then naps for 45 minutes before going off again. Why does he do it? Why doesn’t he nap at home?
I suggested a rather mundane answer to this but I really hope and pray that Margaret will shoot my theory down. I want there to be some ‘back-story’, some odd-and-intriguing reason why he does it.
I tend to nurture there little 'mystery obsessions' of mine because I sometimes find that they are an acorn from which a story might grow. For me, stories often start with some innocuous little detail noted in the back of my head. I’ve learned to encourage that pricking feeling I get which is sometimes the harbinger of a story idea. I think Margaret’s napping man has a story in him. I don’t need to know the truth of his existence or even why he really does it… I just need to wait and see where my interest in him might take me.
I’ll keep you posted.
Some mysteries in my life don’t lead to stories. Sometimes they just amuse me to think back on them.
Like why that bus driver acted as he did, in Dublin a few years back?
Let me tell you about it, perhaps you’ll have a theory.
Trish and I went to see the very first International Soccer match in Dublin’s Croke Park between Ireland and Wales. (So that puts the events of this ‘mystery’ on 24th March 2007, perhaps that’s a clue?) Afterwards we had a drink in 'The Shelbourne Hotel' – much posher than I’m used to – and then we decided to get a bus to Ballsbridge – which is exactly as posh as I’m used to, the bus not the location.
We waited, alone, at the bus stop and, soon enough, a big yellow-and-blue double decker rolled up the road. It stopped, the doors hissed open… and some people got off – that’s relevant, I think... some people got off.
Despite those people getting off, the bus was still packed. Passengers were standing almost right up to the side of the driver’s little cabin.
I stood at the entrance to the bus and shouted up to the driver.
“Sorry,” I said, “can I just check that you’re going through Ballsbridge?”
What happened next has never happened to me before. I would guess it has never happened to anyone before but you might be able to tell me different.
The bus driver broke into a huge smile, threw his gears into neutral, opened his little cabin, jumped out, bounded down the steps of his bus, grabbed my hand and started shaking it furiously.
He said, “I heard you got hitched, congratulations.”
“Thanks.” I had indeed got ‘hitched’ - about fifteen years before.
“Are you in town for long?”
“No… just tonight.”
“Right, right. This bus doesn’t go to Ballsbridge, sorry, you’ll need the next one.”
“Right.”
“I’ll go so…”
“Right.”
And then off he went, with a bus full of people smiling back at me through his windows.
It’s an odd little mystery, completely true. What was he doing? Dublin bus drivers, in my experience, are businesslike, friendly – yes – but I’ve never heard of one bounding out of their seat to greet a stranger.
Perhaps someone in Dublin is familiar with this type of behavior and can help solve the mystery for me. Here are some of my theories:
1) He mistook me for somebody else.
2) He was mad.
3) This is a new Dublin tradition that wasn’t around when I lived there in the Eighties.
4) (And this is the most likely one by far) He was giving me a sarcastic ‘friendly-greeting’ for the entertainment of his sizable Saturday night payload.
I think this last is the truth of the matter but there a few reasons why it doesn’t fully stand up. For instance, I may be a country-boy now, but I’ve lived in cities most of my life and I don’t really stand out as a blow-in to be mocked. Also, importantly, I didn’t wave down the bus to ask if it was the right bus, people were already getting off it at my stop.
When I tell people about this, they tend to shake their heads and say, “This stuff is always happening to you.”
They’re right.
In closing: All this talk about mysteries reminds me of the conundrum of the man who came home from work every day, got the lift to the fifth floor, then walked up the last three flights to his apartment on the eight floor. He always got the lift all the way down when he was going to work but only ever went to the fifth floor when he came home… except, that is, when somebody was with him – then he went all the way to the eighth.
If by any chance, you haven’t heard this before (unlikely, I know) and you become tortured for an answer, look to the housemates in the new British Celebrity Big Brother TV show for a little clue.
A little clue...
