Acts of Random Kindness 3

This is the only topic for which I have needed to write three parts. The world is far less mean than you think.

The Kind Stranger seems to be Santa Clause's little brother- many talk about him, they tell magical stories about him/her but these always are stories about someone else, who knows someone else, who knows the Stranger in question.

I don't believe in Jesus and I don't believe in the mythological Stranger. Because believing would imply blind faith without proof. No. I have seen the mythological Kind Stranger. The cousin-of-my-friend's-dog's-uncle cycle ends here.  

I have met the Kind Stranger.

Many people get a kick out of being destructive, negative, pessimistic, mean, offensive which means there is a large number of people who get a kick out of being cool, adventurous, polite, spontaneous.

The creature is very much like you'd think- changing faces and locations. But if you're lucky enough, you will meet him. It's really not that hard. I was once so lucky I met him twice in one day.

LONDON. Upon boarding my bus, I realised that my reservation was for the wrong journey. Rather than LON-OX-LON, I had booked OX-LON-OX. I easily admitted to the driver it was 100% my own fault and that I was leaving it completely to his discretion to decide what to do with me. He smiled, said he shouldn't... and then changed my reservation, saving me 14 quid. Big thanks.
Why he helped? I think, to a huge extent, he did because I was humble, admitted my fault in the matter and was polite to him. Be polite, kind, helpful and patient with others and they are much more likely to do the same back to you.

OXFORD. Just a few hours later, I am sitting in "Three goats' heads"  in Ox with an Ex and we're having a drink- he's sipping some horrible weissbier and I am sipping some stupidly expensive wine. The bartender comes up to us, carrying a chair and puts it next to our table. We look at him, half tipsy, fully puzzled. He says, giggly:
-It's for your friend.
-What friend?, we ask, even more confused.
-Your invisible friend. For whomever you want.
-That's why I love coming to this pub!, the ex exclaims.

Simple, jolly moments. Strangers are fantastic company.

P.S. If you ask Google, though, some bad images come up for "strangers", even "strangers in a pub". We need to change that perception- one pub, one image, one story at a time.

London town

For all the times I've been in London,  it was at 2 am that I saw it be its warmest and kindest.  That particular night, I had been travelling on a bus from Oxford, it was only me and the driver. It felt like it was just me and the driver in the whole of England. The motorway was quiet, long, with the occasional lights flickering with the frequency of a slow heartbeat. Monotony was exciting,  it kept me alert before the lack of sleep and the nurturing rocking of the bus took the best of me.
I woke up and I immediately felt light, curious, tranquil, the street light around me evoking a feeling of magic.  I wondered which city this was, it never occurred to me that it could be London until I recognised some familiar landmarks. It was a sleepy masculine London rather than the annoying fashionable hipster London full of slow crowds of pretentious people. It was calm, its voice-soothing, the timbre- metallic yet warm, its skin made of stone. It was dressed to impress and an attitude to remember: regal, altogether composed, intelligent and...cheeky, somewhat. One you could fall in love with, because it was ultimately honest. Bitch had style.
Vacated by its usual inhabitants, who were resting after a day of shopping, working, rushing, changing tube lines, calling each other to arrange dinner plans, the city behaved like a person. When left alone in its own company,  it was stripped of expectations and conversations. I loved it for that, it was a thousand times more alive to me than during the day. It claimed the respect it felt it deserved, for its history and looks, much like a well-groomed man, respect I gladly showed. Respect I would never have shown during the day, when London usually behaved like a spoiled slutty teenager.

I exited the bus, said goodbye to the driver. It felt special to me that we had shared this bus ride only with each other, in the middle of the night.  Walking towards my train, once again I felt protected by the city which used its tall, dark buildings to snuggle me with their metallic and stone arms. I couldn't sense neither the cold nor the tiredness anymore.