**Diary Entry**
Honestly, have you ever spotted someone your own age and thought, “Bloody hell, I surely don’t look *that* old… do I?” 😅
Let me share what happened to a mate of mine—
My name’s Emily. I was waiting at the bus stop in Manchester, freezing my fingers off, when the bus finally arrived. As I stepped on, I glanced at the driver’s ID badge. His full name was printed there, and something about it felt familiar.
Then it hit me—a memory of a lanky, dark-haired lad from secondary school, the one I’d fancied rotten back in the day… about 35 years ago.
For half a second, I wondered, “Could that really be him? The boy I used to daydream about in maths?”
But when I took a proper look at the driver, I brushed the idea aside. He was balding, greying, with deep lines on his face and a bit of a paunch—he seemed *ancient*. Still, curiosity got the better of me.
I cleared my throat and asked, “Pardon me, but did you happen to go to St. Mary’s Secondary?”
He grinned. “Aye, I did! Why d’you ask?”
“What year did you leave?”
“1982… Why?”
Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “Well, we were in the same year!”
He studied me for a long moment…
And then…
THIS BLOKE—
BALD,
GREY,
WRINKLED,
A BIT ROUND,
WITH BAGS UNDER HIS EYES—
LOOKED ME DEAD IN THE FACE AND SAID:
“And which subject did you teach, miss?”
—
😑
Since that day, I’ve sworn off judging anyone by appearances.
Though I *did* spend an extra hour picking out my outfit the next time I left the house. 😉
—
Tell me that’s not a proper kick in the teeth, eh? 😆
