The Missing Ticket- A Short Story.

It falls on some of us to learn profound lessons about people and life as a personal experience. That is what happened to me a few months ago when I wanted to go on a business trip. 

My name is Adrian Murphy. I work for the famous confectioner- Mars. I am a junior marketing executive. I have been working for Mars ever since I got my marketing qualifications. I love my company even if I have a short fat balding little man for a head of department who sweats like a waterfall when stressed. A few of us have bosses like Raymond Daniels. He is a short, balding, tubby little man with all the manners of an ogre. My workplace is in Slough which is not very far from Maidenhead where I live. Slough is just your typical industrial city that you can find anywhere in England. Maidenhead, ah, sweet Maidenhead, is the picture of proper urban planning which was common place in post-war Britain. Lined with trees, pockmarked with post-war style houses, tidy high-rise flats and apartments. The loveliest city in this corner of England.

I got an email from Raymond the previous evening when I got home. The barrel of lard always sends emails whenever he pleases to do so. He told me in the email that I was to go to Manchester to talk to a wholesaler who had contacted him about a new business proposal. Conveniently, Raymond attached a couple of spreadsheets, word documents and slides all for my perusal. He told me as well to meet him at the office the next morning for a chat about the trip. I went through all that he sent me well into the night. I went through what he sent me. It was all sorts of business plans, charts, graphs and slides. He had a voice recording where briefed me on what was needed to be done. It was all too familiar to me. I have done it many a time before and rather splendidly well as a matter of fact.

The next morning, I met up with the fat toad, in his office along with Marge, his secretary, Bill, Jayne and Tim, all from the sales and marketing department. After a long chat and briefing I found out that I had to leave by train to Manchester the next morning. I checked with the railways that the next train tomorrow was at 11 am. We all agreed that I will leave for Manchester that morning.

The following day arrived and I drove to London from Maidenhead. It takes only an hour to reach London from Maidenhead. I left home at 9 am sharp knowing I will have time for a cup of tea and cake while waiting for the train to take me from London to Manchester. Along the way, I phoned Raymond to tell him that I was on the way to London. All Raymond said in his gruff tone said was the usual yeah all right then. The journey to London was largely free of traffic right into London. 

I arrived in London at 10 minutes past 10. Jolly well pleased, I parked my car in the car park at Kings Cross Station and took my bags with my laptop and a suitcase. I walked to the counter an purchased my ticket into my trouser pocket and happily walked to a nice cafe` near the station. I passed by a number of people of all sorts on my way. But there were a number of homeless people. They were smelly, badly clothed, unwashed and spent their time begging. You have to be careful that you do not give on beggar money because when the rest of them see it, they will rush towards you in desperation.

Beggars basically make feel sick. They are shabbily dressed, never want to work a day in their lives, louts, loafers and always out for a free meal. Often covered in dirty brown or green shawls, the air reeking with the pungent odour of unwashed bodies, they sit, stand and wander about like zombies. Their teeth often decayed and stained in black or brown in a way that you never want to see them open their mouths for whatever reason come what may. Their clothes are mostly coats dirtied with grime and stained with God knows what. The stench is simply putrid. I always regarded them as lowly people devoid of any honesty, decency and goodness. The type of people who never did an honest days work. A bunch of shirkers and louts who will happily thieve.

When I purchased my train ticket, I thought that I had carefully put it in my jacket's pocket.

It cost £37.50p for a to and fro journey. It was of course chargeable to my expense account. That miserly beggar, Raymond, always kept a careful eye on staff expenses. If you double charged anything or bought anything unnecessary, Raymond will dance on your head. So, I sat in a cafe' having a tea and cake. 

When the time came to board the train, I hurriedly made my way to the platform. As I walked briskly to the train station, I heard someone shouting 'Oi... here wait a minute, mate'. I stopped and turned around and this shabbily dressed vagrant came quickly like a hare staring at me. I held something in his waving hand. I immediately thought that he wanted my charity. No way! I thought. he was not getting any money from me. The stupid sod. 

So, I hurried to the platform and passed through an aisle. The security guard at the entrance of the train stopped the clumsy beggar and turned him away. I glanced at him and saw the security guard turn him away. The vagrant looked anxiously at me and sadly moved away from the entrance but he didn't go far. instead he just stood there not far from the station and within view of me. Making my way towards the entrance to the platform where the automated ticket collection machines stood like stoic guardians to the platform. When I dug into my pocket, I could not find my ticket. Panicking, I searched again furtively, mindful that I will have to pay again, compounded with not charging my expense account for an additional train ticket, missing the train, which was to leave in minutes, and having to explain to my nutty boss. I searched all my pockets, jacket and pants. No ticket. Good lord! I thought. What on earth happened? It was then I realised that I must have dropped it either at the cafe' or on the road. I made my way quickly to the entrance, carrying my laptop bag and suitcase. It was then that the vagrant who had earlier called out to me came towards me with a forlorn sad and anxious look on his untidy bearded face with my ticket in his had. I was in utter and complete shock. Suddenly, a flood of shame flooded me. I thought of vagrants and the homeless as dishonest bums. Shyly, I took the ticket from him, not being able to look him in the eye for long. He said to me, 'Here mate, you dropped your ticket.' he said softly. I thanked him and reached into my wallet and pulled out £10 and gave it to him. He smiled and thanked me bowing his head a couple of times. I thanked him bowing my head. My perception of the poor changed at that moment. Full of shame, I sped along to the train station to make of the Manchester.

This is what I learnt that day. People fall into destitution for all sorts of reasons. They can run into misfortune ranging from loss of occupation, divorce or were thrown out of home by their parents. it does not mean that they are shiftless and mean. Kindness, decency and honesty are not the sole domain of some of us who have a house, a car, money and family. Anyone can have good attributes. Never think otherwise.