The Nutter on the Bus

Most of you are probably way too young to remember Jasper Carrott’s nutter on the bus sketch. I suggest you Google/U tube it, or whatever it is you do, and have a look. At the time it was funny, especially for our family because my mother was always the person that the proverbial nutter sat next too. Although not politically correct, it was an accurate portrayal of the personality type that was drawn to Mum. They were attracted to her like iron filings are to a magnet and once attached it was difficult to get rid of them.

I unfortunately, have inherited my mother’s ability to attract those that would normally have one backing out of the door at 90 miles an hour after a minute of conversation.

My first encounter was with a young man who wore army fatigues and a gas mask. I was on my way to school and crossing the local recreational ground when he jogged into sight. As there were no army barracks within 100 miles of where we lived and no sirens sounding out warnings of a likely mustard gas attack, my brain went into high alert. There was, however, a local mental health facility in the area. When he saw me he changed direction and started to run in a line that intersected mine. Prudently I decided not to hang around to find out if he wanted directions to the front line .

Then there was the shoe lady. It was sale season in Macclesfield and time to do a little shopping. I walked into the shop picked up a shoe. A body materialised beside me and exclaimed

“That is a nice shoe. How much is it?”

“Twenty five pounds” I replied unsuspectingly.

“Twenty five pounds” she screeched at a decibel level that reached into the far corners of the shop. “That’s too expensive”.

Smiling politely I edged away around the corner to another shoe rack.

“OOOH …that’s a nice shoe. How much is it?” asked a voice from beside me.

As I eyed the shop assistants huddled in the corner, desperately trying to contain their laughter, she grabbed the sandal out of my hand and looked at the price ticket on the sole.

“Eighteen pounds! That’s a rip off” she screamed, waving the offending article around in the air.

By now there were no customers in the shop apart from me and my friend. Which was just as well, as the staff weren’t in a fit state to help anyone. Two were bent over double, trying to hold each other up and one was hiding behind the counter. Making soothing sounds in an attempt to placate an small, irate, little woman, I moved slowly towards the door, passed a rack and stupidly picked up a boot that caught my eye.

“That’s nice. How much is it?” asked my shadow.

I handed her the boot and fled.

There were others! The guy who stalked me. The ex-boyfriend of 2 weeks who rang my mother up and told her that he would like to go back out with me because the Doctors had told him he was OK now. The man at the bus stop who spent 10 minutes sweeping leaves one by one with his walking stick into the gutter, then spent another 20 minutes trying to get them back onto the pavement by the same method. The lady who regularly visited the shop I worked in and regaled me with her health issues. The girl who informed me that I was dating Jesus and that she knew it was true because she had dated Michael Jackson. I could go on but I think you get the point. I attract strange people.

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