Pass it On

Henry worked in an office. It was an ordinary office in an ordinary city where he was paid an ordinary wage to do ordinary things. For many this would have been tedious and frustrating, but not for Henry because he too was ordinary, and he enjoyed being so. Life was predictable; get up at 7:00 A.M., shower for 15 minutes, toast two pieces of wholemeal bread, poach an egg, eat with a minimum of fuss, watch ten minutes of morning television, listen to an audio-book on the train, get to work, sandwich for lunch, back to work, home, watch a little TV, read something light, go to sleep, and repeat day after day.

Henry liked his weekends to be just as routine. On a Friday night after work he would treat himself to an Indian Takeaway and a good film. Saturdays would be spent exploring some local car boot sales for items to add to his collection of old video games, while Sundays would be specifically put aside to play them.

Life was simple for Henry and he preferred it that way. Being mildly tainted with an obsessive compulsive streak, he avoided anything which would take him out of his comfort bubble, and away from his routine. Henry always avoided the extraordinary, but on this day, the peculiarly extraordinary found him.

It was lunch time on an overcast Monday and Henry knew exactly where, what, and with whom he would be eating. He walked from his place of work along the usual route. Normally it would have taken him almost exactly 5 minutes and 32 seconds, but there had been a bad accident on Gladstone Road and due to this Henry had to take a slight detour. He was annoyed at first that his routine had been warped by something outside of his control, but on passing the closed off street he could see a car mangled, sitting unceremoniously on a pavement, with members of the emergency services frantically attending en masse to the passengers.

Despite his annoyance, Henry continued on his way hoping that those whom had been hurt would require only minimal medical attention.

After exactly 7 minutes and 24 seconds, Henry arrived at his destination only to once more be aggravated by a change of routine. He always sat on the same bench in the city square for lunch but on this day, that would be impossible. His favourite bench had been snatched by an unscrupulous young couple who were, of all things, kissing each other. Henry stood momentarily, moving off in disgust when the couple took notice of him staring while they came up for air.

George square was a curious place, not as large in scale as some city squares, but not without its charm, containing numerous blackened statues - which the city pigeons just adored - and surrounded on all sides by impressive 19th century architecture. It was one of Henry's favourite places; eating lunch, staring at the passers by. Feeling an attachment to society, without having to actually be a part of it.

Surveying the scene of his discontent, Henry sat down on the only bench which hadn't been commandeered by man, woman, child, or pigeon. Opening his black leather briefcase, he unwrapped the only part of his day which he could absolutely control, a ham and pickle sandwich, covered in horseradish sauce which he had made for himself that very morning.

Chomping down hungrily on his masterpiece, Henry now took in the bustling heart of the city, and while he was not entirely keen on his new vantage point, he still took part in his favourite pastime; people watching.

His eyes moved through the crowds, jumping from one person to the next, as if turning the pages of his favourite book, imagining the stories each stranger had to tell. It was ironic really, for someone who had difficulty meeting new people, he was entirely captivated by them. A beautiful woman in a blue dress waiting in the doorway of a bar, most probably for a man much luckier than poor Henry - he was just not that great with women - two teenage boys attempting to impress some girls of a similar age, sharing a cigarette they no doubt had stolen from an oblivious parent, and a city sweep cleaning the square; a hard working, honest man, invisible to the office workers passing by in their preened and cleaned suits.