When all this were fields…

Half a dozen friends and I once embarked on a lad’s trip to Blackpool. From what I remember we had a pretty decent time overall. However, it was somewhat 'marred' by the following incident.

We bumbled enthusiastically into the town, as you would, and immediately threw ourselves nose-first into the usual Blackpool fayre – strip clubs, cheap bars, arcades and chip shops etc; for some reason we became increasingly determined to visit every shitty establishment on the seafront that had anything remotely stimulating to offer us.

At every place we visited, we were divulging in the standard rounds and we finally stumbled across some shit-hole lovely place…(all I can remember about was that it had and ‘L’ shaped pool table - what's that all about?). Anyhoo, at this one place in particular one of our group, whom I shall name ‘Vlad’, (for 'twas his nickname), announced that it was his round…

He checked his pockets…then checked again…and again. Oh spacksticks...

Gone. He now had the sum of Fuck-diddly-all.

Upon realising that he had his whole weekend fund (over £300 – this was a LONG time ago - I understand that nowadays £300 would hardly spring for a cab) in his wallet…that was now potentially spunked forever he declared ‘Oh dear’, only he announced it in a fashion that was a sort of 'Oh dear', just times-about-a-million…with entirely more violence and relevant related swearwords.

We all looked at each other. The stupid cunt had gone and lost his wallet – or been pickpocketed. Either way he was a colossal bell-end, yet we were all admirably insistent that we were not going to let this calamity ruin our weekend. Thusly, we started to discuss finance arrangements.

The ideas was: we would all lend him £50, he would suffer the ridicule of us all for the whole weekend and try to pay us back when he could. However, Vlad was not having any of it. “I’m going to re-trace my steps” he announced. We were all of course understandably enthusiastic in our encouragement…“Don’t be such a fucking spazmo, you’ve lost it – get over it!” was the collective diatribe from our group. However, Vlad was determined, and he insisted that we all go back to every bar / arcade that we had previously visited that day, and make enquiries to every landlord and / or ‘lost property’ department, should they have one.

Any success from this, as far as long shots go, was pretty much up there with winning the lottery on the very same day you get struck by lightning, so we were quite phenomenally reluctant. But eventually, we reflected that retracing our steps via various drinking establishments did carry a certain appeal to us, so we decided to indulge him.

The hours ticked by, and we trudged back through every bar, arcade and questionable establishment that we had previously vacated…getting evermore shitfaced, and questioning every person of authority that we could find…who each tended to strike the pose of ‘pausing' somewhat - before heartily laughing us out of the place and informing us that we had two hopes, and one of those was 'Bob'. We were properly screwed.

As we sat despondently in yet another bar, we were all about to give up and call it a day, when Vlad piped up after having another search of his piss-tarded memory.

“I think I remember where I left it!” he enthuses before continuing: “I left it on top of one of the fruit machines in ‘such-and-such’ arcade...let's Go!” he proceeded to proudly declare in a ‘rounding up of the troops’ manner.

Upon hearing this information – we became even more despondent. “If you did leave it there – then it’s definitely gone” I said to him, before cursing myself for ever inviting the absent-minded knob-itch there in the first place.

“Come on…Let’s go there now…woo!” he exclaimed – and his ever-hopeful exterior inspired us just enough to give us a tiny glimmer that this tragedy may indeed possibly have a happy ending.

“Oh, alright then, but this is the last fucking place we’re checking” I said, before one of my other friends gave him a life-affirming smack round the ear.

A few minutes later we were in the aforementioned arcade, and they just so happened to have a steward available, a scruffy looking fucker in a tiny cubicle in the corner who must have over time adopted such a fierce habit of telling little twats to ‘fuck off’ that it was probably worth his while to just have a T-shirt printed instead.

We approached him tentatively: “Whaddaya want?” he spat at us, positively bursting with top-notch customer service attitude.

Vlad stepped forward bravely: “Erm, sorry to bother you…I was wondering, did anyone hand a…erm…’wallet’ in today?”

The bloke sneered derisively, before squinting his eyes so he could glare at us all inquisitively...probably checking to see if this was some sort of scam.

“I might have…” he cryptically answered.

“Well then, I think it's mine, can I have it back please?” Vlad cheerily declared.

The steward seemed understandably unconvinced.”What’s your name?” he snorted.

Vlad told him his real name and the steward looks at him with a metric fuckload of purest disdain. “Oh…”he says. He then seemed to instantly perk up, entirely out of character and cheerily declared: “There you go sir, have a nice day!” whilst chucking the wallet back at Vlad, who grabbed it in amazement before checking the contents.

Every.single.penny.was.still.in.there.

We all looked at each other silently. It was nothing short of a miracle. Vlad decided on the spot that he was paying for the beers for the rest of the night based on the sheer unbelieve-ablity of what had transpired that day. We let him.

So as far as ‘random acts of kindness’ go, this was a multiple. I still struggle to comprehend how not only can one person anonymously find a wallet with over £300 in it, and decide to 'hand it in'…but then they do so to a chap whose minimum wage, miserable job must surely have made this a simple decision to pocket what had been handed in before denying all to the bunch of drunken twats who turned up enquiring.

But incredibly...everyone…EVERYONE decided to do the right thing. My faith in human nature changed ever-so-slightly that day.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 9 Feb 2012, 17:00, 6 replies)

Your mate is a lucky fucker
I would have kept the cash.

Good story tho bro
(The Magic Number is neither magic nor a number, Thu 9 Feb 2012, 17:07, closed)

I like this story.
It contains several storyish elements that are likeable.
( .Yeti. El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Thu 9 Feb 2012, 17:08, closed)

I consider that high praise from you, sir...

( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 9 Feb 2012, 17:11, closed)

I hope he
bunged the bloke a few bob for his trouble.
(username failed moderation, Thu 9 Feb 2012, 17:16, closed)

I'm ashamed to say...

He didn't, and I was too gobsmacked at the time to consider slinging the chap any sort of reward. I feel bad now.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 9 Feb 2012, 17:54, closed)

Maybe you could track him down

(Captain Skippy pooed in a bag and left it on your doorstep, Fri 10 Feb 2012, 6:27, closed)

''''So'''' ' ' many''''''''' quotation'' marks''''

( MatJ LOOK, Fri 10 Feb 2012, 1:29, closed)

Yes,
they turn blocks of unintelligible text into amusing and interesting stories. Handy, eh?
( sanityclause is waiting until, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 18:41, closed)