The other day I was on a train and I noticed an old woman walking down the aisle. She walked over half the length of the carriage only to stop in-front of me to ask for assistance. Half a carriage, half-full, at least a dozen other people between her and I, and she chooses to talk to me.

This is not the first time this has happened. Indeed, it’s happens quite a bit.

There’s a strange phenomenon at work where, wearing jeans, chucks and a t-shirt, people will still come up to me and ask for help. Even if I’m on break, not wearing a name-tag, and obviously on my way out of the building.

Now in that case, I assume it’s got something to do with body language. Even people who aren’t regulars can read something in me, which tells them that I work there. And they expect me to help them.

But, that is not the only scenario. I am regularly asked for help at train stations, Melbourne streets, JB Hi-Fi, Big-W . . . The list goes on. People who come up:

“Excuse me, but I was wondering where the check-out is?”

“Hi, could you tell me if this would be compatible with my systems at home?”

“What would you recommend for a twelve-year-old boy? An Xbox or a PlayStation?”

I dress like a hobo (I drew and coloured a drawing of Gehndo . . . Gods I look like a vagabond) — why do they ask me?