Raindrops: Sooner or later one will land somewhere interesting
I grasp the bar of my bike with my elbow and settle into the
rain seat. After many trial and errors I have managed to find a place to sit
down during the one and a half hour journey from Canterbury back to London,
whilst still keeping my bike close at hand (in case I drop off) and keeping it
out of the way of the doors. It took me a while, but I got lucky in the end.
My eyes droop when someone grasps my attention…
“Can I ask mate… is that a road bike… you see I don’t get
it. I have had many bike, I love ‘em, but mountain bikes and BMXs. So… your
wheels are bigger…right?”. He stand up as he speaks and sits down in the seat
in front of me.
“Er…yeah. They are thinner as well, less contact with the
road. Less grip, more speed.” I cautiously say. I love my bike and would hate
this to preclude them attempting to remove it from my possession. They nod,
lifting their baseball cap of the top of their head showing spots and greasy
hair, then replacing it, a reflexive gesture. He fidgets and seems a little
uncertain how to respond, they kneel on the chair placing their hands on the
back of the seat in front. Two things occur to me at that point: 1, they smell;
2, that it is in fact a woman, or at least a girl of around 16 or 17. Her baggy
American style hoodie and ‘pants’ have hidden all sign of shape.
“Yeah…ok… so they are faster, but what about going on mud
and downhill”. She constantly moves from knee to knee her hands touching her
cap again, or sweeping limp hair from her face.
“Yeah… not so good at that. But I mostly ride on the roads
so it’s ok.” I have given up all pretence at sleep. Yeah of commuting at all
hours in London have taught me how to spot those people who need to talk, and
talk she did.
“I don’t have a bike anymore, I did, but I sold it. Can’t
remember what for. I’m just coming back from this team day thing that the councillor
said I should go on. It’s all about confidence and that. There was this guy
there, he couldn’t even talk and I told him to ‘Get off his ass and join in’. I
mean, if I can do it, then he can right. You see my confidence is not that great,
you know…. Where are you getting off?” It is like she is already judging the
length of her story next to the train ride and wants to speed things along so
she can fit it in.
“er… London.” Vague, but specific enough I hope.
“Yeah, right, I get off at Dartford, and we are passing the
place where it happened. You can see it from the train. You see I saw a man get
shot. Seriously… “ The pause is calculated effect, she wants me to react.
“Wow… what happened.” I admit, I am engaged. I want to know
now who this person is and what happened.
“I was just there you know, I was just there on the high
street and he was just there and this guy… he came out of the betting place and
this other guy got out of a car and he kind of punched him… with a gun. I don’t
remember the sound, but it must have gone off, there was so much blood. I
remember the guy just shouted at him then got in the car and was gone. Everyone
was just standing round like they was in shock or something, but I ran towards
him and held him. I shouted for someone to call an ambulance. There was so much
blood…” Still fidgeting, but more in the moment now, she takes her cap completely
off and looks at it reassuringly, before returning it to her head.
“THERE” she stands up pointing out of the window and down
into the street that the train crosses over. “That is where it happened, just
there”. By the time I look I see shop fronts flash by before it’s is the train
sidings again, all trees and discarded rubbish. She sits back down and fidgets
a little.
“I had to go to court… I had to say what I had seen. They say
that I am traumatised, suffering shock of the moment which is funny ‘cause I
was the only one who did something – Ya’ know. I didn’t really think about it
much later when I got my clothes back from the police. They still had blood on.”
I’m shocked at that.
“What! They sent them back to you with blood on!?” It seems callous,
thoughtless.
“Yeah… it was not until then that I cried. You know…
properly balled, like when yer a kid. Thing is, I dunno. I not sure about God
or nuthin’ but it was like it had to be me, you know. Like somehow I was there
just to be with him, in that moment.” I nod and smile. I don’t know what to say
– his isn’t about me anyway.
“It’s just… well… it could have happened to anyone. But it
didn’t it happened to me. Why me?!” She keeps talking but my mind is racing,
she mentions the course she is on and school, not wanting to live with her
crazy mum and the problems she has with anger. I’m like a sponge now, trying to
hold the moment all in. It is the perfect moment of research, like a pure
interview without direction or impetuous from myself. I try and record the
moment somehow, physically emulating my digital recorder in my bag…silent yet
blinking.
“Anyway mate… this is my stop. Nice meeting you…”
“Yeah… safe journey.” I stare.
“Nice bike mate”.
“Thanks.” And she is gone. Those words replay in my head: ‘…it
could have happened to anyone. But it didn’t it happened to me.’ All I can
think of is that it did happen to anyone, and that anyone was her.
Inverted Pyramid Scam
This scam works in the same vein as the story above – for
the single person it feels special, real, but seen in the context of the many
it is pure luck. It is often reported as predicting the outcome of horse races,
but has also been the focus of an ‘Alfred Hitchcock Presents’ feature named the
Mail Order Prophet.
The process is simple, you choose some events in the future,
horse races, political elections, lottery numbers etc. and you write a number
of letters to cover all eventualities in the first event. For ease, let us
assume there at five events, each with a 50/50 chance. The scam works by you
writing a number of letters predicting the future – half with the one outcome,
half with the other. The letter will state that you can predict the future and
can prove it a number of times. Half the letters will be right and half will be
wrong. On the next event you write to the half that received the ‘right’ letter
and predict the next event; although half of your letters will be right and
half will be wrong. You repeat this as
many times as necessarily until you have a small number of people who are
convinced by your prowess at predicting the future. You would then ask them if
they want to benefit on this and get them to send you money to gamble on your
next prediction, one you do not even have to make.
This trick works because for the individual you have proof
that accurate predictions have been made. Your understanding of the process is
linear, in that it tracks only your ‘straight line’ path through your own
personal history. It has no understand of the entire process but nonetheless it
feels special, real.
This is the same process that has occurred at the market,
many times people refer to the ‘core’ people or the ‘steadfast’ the ‘stalwarts’
of the market and give them something special, some important role in the
construction of the market. In reality the market is just as much created
through the loss of many individuals as it is through the mainstay of the
select few.
