The Turbulent Trek – Moving On

So here I was. Plymouth; my square one.

For the next year I became a regular Big Issue seller. Selling the ‘Issue’ seemed to fit like a glove. For the first time in a long time, I was meeting and interacting with the public at large. I felt at ease. For the first time in what seemed like years, I not only (mostly) enjoyed my day, it also came with the bonus of a financial reward. My world, and indeed the world around me, seemed so much brighter. I suddenly looked forward to waking up in the morning. And alongside all of this, although all different characters with differing backgrounds, my relationship with the four guys positively blossomed. We became inseparable, always watching each other’s back. Always meeting up in our shed after work to discuss the day’s play.

Over the course of that year, whilst the Big Issue was my only source of income and whilst I enjoyed the selling, on many days that enjoyment would be sucked dry by the various verbal insults I received.  The ‘Fuck Offs’ The ‘Get a life’. Moreso, the subliminal ones. When I first started selling the Issue, I thought I was being paranoid, but no, other vendors agreed, they were repetitive. On seeing me, some women did instinctively move their bag to the opposite shoulder. For fear I might steal it? Some families did, on seeing me, gather their children together, shepherding them until they were safely passed. For fear I might snatch them or perhaps eat them?

What you can actually read can you?

Yes, being a little sensitive with a skin bordering on translucent, any type of insult held the potential to finish my day. It was debilitating and a serious threat to what I now perceived as my ‘last chance saloon.’

The last thing I wanted was for people to think I was a thief. The very last thing I wanted was for people to feel uncomfortable as they passed.  I simply wanted people to like me.

Then one day, stood on my pitch, perusing one of the magazines I was hopefully going to sell, a man walked up and delivered an insult that, whilst upsetting, was also defining. An insult that would, once again, change my world. ‘What you can actually read can you?’ He asked. Yes, for me, an insult that delivered a defining moment. It was clear I had a problem.

The Big Issue, for me, was now my last hope in concocting some sort of future for myself but I realised that certain members of the public could so easily thwart that future. People looking at me as some sort of alien. Some, who by seeing a one-dimensional snapshot of me, had even worked out I was ill-educated and a ne’er do well. Yes, I realised that my Big Issue pitch needed a few adjustments. This role I was playing needed some fine tuning.

My goal, my primary aim, was to make my days brighter by attempting to eliminate the insults. So, from then on I would never, as I’d done before, ask passers-by if they’d like to buy a copy. A question invites a response; often that response was not only unnecessary but, for me, detrimental to my attempt at just getting by. From then on, I would never be seen on my pitch without standing proud and wearing a huge smile. A contrived smile to begin the day with, but with the smiles I received in return, a smile soon worn with far less effort. These small adjustments eliminated some of the insults but there were a number of people who needed a little more work.

I figured I was now a passive Big Issue vendor, one who never utters a word and always wears a smile. Nothing offensive in that. Sadly, some continued to think differently. Maybe I was just a bit too passive; a bloke stood there smiling and holding a magazine in the air. What if I could entertain people as they passed? What if I could make their day lighter? OK, I couldn’t juggle, play guitar, or saw a lady in half without making one helluva mess on the pavement. All I had in my box of tricks was wit. So, reaching into my box, wit is what I pulled out. That evening, sat pondering, my box of wit and I came up with a possible solution.

I purchased a clothes airer, a roll of lining paper, sellotape and a thick felt tip pen. From these I made an ’A’ board, displaying a sign that I hoped people might find amusing. The impact was immediate. The board placed in front of me not only gave me space, eliminating those who would, on passing, brush up against me as a display of ignorance, it also showed to passers-by that I could in fact read and write. It showed I had a sense of humour.

 

Connecting with others through wit, people related with me, no longer perceiving me as some sort of alien, but a fellow human being. Even the verbal insults were mostly eliminated. (It’s not polite to insult somebody whose just made you smile.) Yes, overnight, with minimal effort, my world changed. An ’A’ board that proved multifaceted in making my days as a Big Issue vendor so much brighter. A simple ‘A’ board that would be the first among many steps in evolving my pitch. The only thing that hadn’t evolved since my return to Plymouth was the ‘socialising.’

Whilst I enjoyed my time in Plymouth, sharing the evenings with my homeless friends; Myles, Two Ties and Peckham Pete, it was déjà vu, a Groundhog Day existence. A year of selling the Big Issue by day, a year of entering oblivion by night. Comfortably numb and getting absolutely nowhere.

It was time to leave Plymouth, my friends and my square one behind. I was stronger now. It was time to continue my journey alone. It was time to find my square two. It was time to create a life.

Sadly, unbeknown to me, my three friends were approaching the end of their journey. They would all be dead within three years.