The beggar on the bus.

I took part in a 5K run at the park this morning. The organiser’s website asks us to walk/run or take public transport to the park rather than drive so as to reduce our carbon footprint. I bought a day bus pass to get to the park and used it, later in the day, to go into town. So far, so economical.

Coming back from town, Ed and I were at the end of the queue that tailed outside of the bus shelter. As the bus pulled in and the passengers draw forward to get on, I became aware of a commotion going on towards the doorway. It was being orchestrated by a rotund guy in his late thirties who was wearing an acrylic track suit. He had his ‘uncle’ with him, who was slighter of build, also donning a black tracksuit and wearing a dejected expression. What the loud guy was talking about was clear enough as he wished it to broadcast it to anyone within hearing distance: He had just come from the train station where his bag has been stolen by ‘some smack head’. His bag contained their return train tickets to Leeds. He had previously explained his situation to the people at the train station but they wouldn’t let him board the train without tickets.

Thus his next step was to turn up at our bus stop. Not that our bus went to Leeds. What he wanted, he says after completing his monologue, was £40 – ‘two quid off everyone here will get us back’. As the bus opens its doors, the people queuing, clearly uncomfortable, drew towards it. The odd person, such as a girl in her late teens, hand over the requested cash. He is exasperated at the lack of response and, during this period, appears to be in a phone conversation with his mum. He comments to his uncle – or to us – ‘I’m telling her what’s happening and she’s in tears’. Incredulous that a busload of people (consisting of pensioners and people heading to districts of varying economic status) were unable to summon together the collective fare to return him and his uncle to Leeds he continues to press his case: ‘I’m going to try again’ he says to his uncle. He steps onto the bus. To no-one’s pleasure he’s ‘going in’. He hasn’t finished with us yet.

The bus driver’s reaction from behind plastic sheeting can’t be gleaned but he doesn’t appear to tell the loud guy that this is not the time and place and can he now sling his hook. So another request is now put out to everyone on the bus – all the more intimidating and ‘in your face’ for being in the confined space of a carriage. The pensioners sitting at the front of the bus bear the biggest amount of its ferocity. Someone further down the carriage comes forward with some money. The loud guy talks to the bus driver about the inflexibility shown by the rail company while rail bosses go on to earn millions then he eventually leaves.

I’ve seen requests for money made to the gallery on transport carriages before but never with this amount of ‘shock and awe’. In these situations, I’d guess that he gets some cash from people who don’t necessarily believe him but just wish him out of their personal space. As a ‘panhandling’ tactic it draws on levels of energy which would be beyond most of us. A lot of boxes are ticked in his stream of narrative: victim (at hands of ‘smackheads’), morals (we owe it to see them home alright), emotions (his mother that is crying) and justice (the rail bosses that earn millions).

Ed didn’t seem too put out at this scene and even started singing a song. Perhaps he’s used to hot heads.

Taking public transport can sporadically ask challenging and unwelcome questions of the person travelling. Do we give to people who ask for money? Do we say something when someone is smoking, especially when it’s in the presence of children? How do we intervene if some bloke is bullying his partner? Much easier to be a car driver, detached from these issues - other drivers or pedrestrians may be cursed; rolling scenery may be commented on but as a driver we are one step removed from things that go on and can drive on by easily enough.