I can’t help myself, when I hear an English accent while I’m out shopping, I automatically orientate towards the person speaking. And, usually, because I make eye contact and smile, get a response. And thus I start either a brief chat with another English speaker, sharing a few moments. On occasion I’ve even spent an hour or two talking to someone, usually a visitor to our fair City.
Like the last couple of days. I just happened to arrive at my bus stop as a fraught woman came rushing up to me and in French, while waving her phone in my face, tells me the bus would not stop here and that I needed to walk to the next stop and, before I’d even formed a response, she was off walking down the sidewalk. But right behind her, bemused at her antics, were a couple who came up and asked me what she’d said.
I began to explain and, one sentence in, the woman interrupted me and said, “Oh, you’re English?” Well, yes, it’s true when I start speaking French I some how end up speaking with, of all things, a Lancashire accent. I know, I’m weird. The conversation then proceeded in English, and no, before you ask, not with an accent.
Anyway, an hour later after I ended up riding the bus with them all the way to the mall, I left them there to go off shopping, while I then took another bus home. And now, I’m sitting here smiling at yet another happy encounter with a complete stranger that resulted in a swap of names and addresses and a promise to write an email.
If nothing more comes of it, and most never write, it was another day blessed with a moment of connection. And I’m okay with that.