I’ve been working in the Mental Health sector for a couple of years now having completed thirty odd years in the fast moving consumer goods (FMCG) industry.

I just work with one client over twenty hours a week which is a long way from the irrational hours I was used to working previously.

It may only be twenty hours but the work is quite challenging and often unpredictable. My hat goes off to all the frontline workers in psychiatric hospitals and aged care homes.

These people are unsung heroes and despite their dedication, they never receive their rightful pay or recognition.

As I’m approaching retirement age I feel fortunate that I can survive financially on the twenty hours but recently I was approached by my agency in order to garner possible interest in another client.

“ Ian, we noticed you’re a St Kilda supporter. Would you be interested in taking a client to St Kilda games?”

“Well, I’d be going anyway so as long as he doesn’t live too far away, sure why not?”

I had a twenty minute face to face meeting with Bob (not his real name obviously) and we hit it off extremely well.

Apart from the fact that Bob is a middle aged Saints tragic like me, he has had an extraordinary and very full life.

Before being struck down with a serious debilitating disease, Bob travelled the world and loved extreme sports. We connected quickly so I was looking forward to picking him up for the Saint’s season opener versus Fremantle at Marvel Stadium.

It’s game day and as we walked to Bob’s local train station anticipation was high. “Go Saints”, exclaimed Bob, quickly echoed by me as we skipped away from his share house.

We continued to build some solid rapport on the train, then stepped off at Southern Cross and doubled our speed for the short walk to Marvel even though we were an hour from the first bounce.

To utter joy I discovered that Bob possessed two reserved seats on level one! I’m a regular general admission member who usually sits in the cheap seats, so this was a rare treat.

It’s imperative as a Support Worker to understand all the intricacies of the client in case anything goes wrong. There are case notes that you are given but just in case I spoke to Bob’s mum and the carers at the share house.

Question- “Is there anything I should know about Bob in terms of behaviour/diet/toileting etc?”

Answer – “All good. Very self-sufficient.”

So we take our seats on level one. I tell Bob that I have to go to the toilet and check in that he will be ok. I return ten minutes later with a 600ml Coke No Sugar and find a happy Bob.

Its now fifteen minutes to the first bounce and Bob virtually skols the Coke. He then stands and says he’s going to the toilet.

“Would you like me to come with you mate?”

“No thanks”

That would be the last time I see Bob for the next five hours.

As the Saints pulled off one of their greatest wins in five years, I missed the entire game.

Along with all the police at Marvel, we had a full blown APB out everywhere. When asked by the police to describe Bob I said, “ Caucasian, 5ft 11inch, a retro Saints hoody and a black Saints cap”  

As I finished my statement, the Saints must have kicked a goal because we were almost physically assaulted by a huge roar from the members on level one. I turned out of instinct and saw ten thousand Caucasian men wearing black caps and Saints hoodies. The odds of finding Bob suddenly increased.

I circumnavigated level one a few times and with a ‘bone on bone’ right knee I looked like Richard the Third, stooped over, limping and ducking down aisles like a lunatic.

I spoke to my agency’s 24 hour hotline and they tried unsuccessfully to contact Bob’s mum and the share home, which highlighted some important gaps in the agency’s processes.

The police and I stood outside gate five post game surveying the last of the crowd exiting Marvel but to no avail. At 8.15pm I was on a train back to square one.

I walked into the share house and was told by a carer that Bob hadn’t returned. My heart sank so we rang his mum with the shocking news. She was much more circumspect and said she had a tracker on his phone which was indicating Bob was in Richmond then South Yarra.

I had to head home at 9pm utterly dishevelled when suddenly a police Senior Sgt rang again saying that Bob was one train station away from his local and closing in.

I sped to the station, ran up the stairs just as the train arrived. No Bob.

Phone rings. It’s the Senior again. “He got off at the station before and is walking home.”

Back to the share house again and here’s Bob, cup of tea in hand and all he could say was, “Great win! Go Saints!

It appears he left me to buy some fish and chips. Somehow he found another seat on level 1 which is near on impossible without the appropriate ticket.

Bob’s mum reckons he may have simply sat down in an erroneous seat next to someone who he thought was me. Says a lot about the impression I leave on people with my magnetic personality!

Bob’s mum, who is lovely, apologised profusely but I was the one who felt like an idiot and I was just happy to see Bob alive.

Despite the stress it hasn’t deterred me from taking Bob to future Saints games, provided he doesn’t mind wearing a leash! Kidding of course. Go Saints!