The dawning realisation that you’ve left something at home, when you’re in your car and already five minutes into the daily traffic jam, is nothing short of terrifying. Even more terrifying is the certain knowledge that you will be equally stuck in a new line of traffic going in the complete opposite direction should you decide to execute a three-point turn and head back. And of course once home, do you even bother leaving a second time?

It happened to me the Wednesday before last; but instead of going for ‘Take Two’, I decided to re-garage my car and take the ferry into work instead. It’s barely a 10-minute walk to the Sliema Ferries from my home and I strode purposefully in that direction, feeling actually rather virtuous about my suddenly ‘quasi-green’ credentials.

I was soon to discover that the ferry from Sliema to Valletta was not working that day because of the prevailing northeasterly wind. There were murmurings too that buses were sailing past on account of being ‘full-up’.

Feeling crestfallen and somewhat parched, I was tempted to call for help and have someone drive me to work. But I resisted, preferring in a perverse way to see my decision through to the bitter end. I’d walk the talk.

So on I walked, resolving to catch a bus if one presented itself. Which it did, almost at once. And that, ironically, was where all my problems began.

Fumbling for the right amount of change, I felt my good intentions weaken and the sinking feeling that in Malta, ‘civic virtue’ doesn’t always pay. The bus driver, a foreigner, seemed to be shining a fierce spotlight on me as he waited for me to come up with the goods. Whatever happened, I wondered, to those good old temperamental Maltese drivers who’d swear at you and then carry on with the journey regardless?

In a world where so many friends and family disappoint, there’s nothing quite like a random act of strangers to force you to see things differently

I began to feel increasingly like American comedian Larry David – you know, as if all the gods were conspiring against me. Because when it became clear that I didn’t  have enough small change, I produced a €50 note, knowing full well that although perfectly acceptable as legal tender, the driver probably wouldn’t have change for it or, if he did, would decide willy nilly to make my life difficult.

Sure enough, I was met with a vigorous shaking of the head. I half expected now to be shown the door and left at the roadside.

That really would have been poetic injustice at its best (or worst). Of course, my heroic decision to ditch my car for the day now seemed foolhardy and ill-conceived. I thought of my loyal and perfectly functional car lying idle in its cosy garage, and fought the screaming voice inside my head and the temptation to wave my car keys maniacally in the driver’s face in the hope of making him see I was not some freeloader wanting to hitch a free ride. I had a car. I had money. Just not the money he wanted.

Above all, I was trying to be a conscientious and upstanding citizen. Goddammit, I was part of the traffic solution!

Upstanding was the operative word here. With no seats available, I found myself hanging onto one of the metal handrails, thrown from side to side every time the bus ground to a halt. No picnic, especially when you’re trying to make a great show of rummaging through your wallet. But if nothing else, the €50 note did buy me some time.

So I rummaged on, unearthing the contents of my handbag, suddenly hugely appreciative of those errant coins that find their way to the bottom and are never spent. But I was still about 60 cents short of a bus-ride. It was then – at that most critical of critical moments – that a pretty young woman standing close-by handed me all her change. And those 60 cents of course suddenly seemed like every birthday rolled into one.

I wanted to hug her (but of course I was not in a position to let go of the handrail) so I thanked her profusely instead and told her that I would repay the kindness. She laughed it off and said that it was the least she could do and that she didn’t want any money.

But what was her name anyway? From the book she was reading, I took her to be a student, probably reading for some arts-related degree at the university.

But that is neither here nor there.  What is central to this story is that this was a completely spontaneous and disinterested act of kindness. It had not been staged for anyone’s benefit; and, I flatter myself, but for this article its fate would have been as ephemeral as the bus journey itself.

There you have it. In a world where we have become so accustomed to playing to the Facebook gallery, to wearing our cyber-hearts on our cyber-sleeves, here was a Maltese girl called Julia who could so easily have looked away, but hadn’t.

And then a few days later we heard about Obi, the Nigerian gentleman who found a wallet on a bus-stop with the not inconsiderable amount of €400 in cash: also credit-cards, identity card, driver’s licence and all the other stuff which is so frustrating and worrying to lose.

The Maltese owner, who until then hadn’t yet realised his wallet was even missing, was soon tracked down by Obi, who called him on his mobile phone and returned the wallet intact.

In a world where so many friends and family disappoint, there’s nothing quite like a random act of strangers to force you to see things differently and for a change make you feel positive about the human race.

How did our home-grown racists reacted to Obi, I wonder? I say let there be more Julias and Obis and let’s give them the bus service they deserve.

michelaspiteri@gmail.com

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