Sartorial surveillance by an Garda
Women (and probably men too, but I don’t have any data on this) can be divided into those who are occasionally prepared to leave the house wearing their night attire and those who would never do so, under any circumstances. Those in the “yes” camp would say that it was only to hop in the car to drop the kids off to school and there was little risk of being caught out. The “no” camp (I’m in this risk-averse set) are too terrified to ever consider leaving the house in anything other than normal clothes. The must-wear-clean-underwear-in-case-am-in-an-accident type.
I have a friend. Note, this is not a “friend” friend. It was a Friday, about 8pm, and an “evening in” was planned. She had put on her night attire (nightie, dressing gown, slippers) to settle down for a glass of wine and some TV when she realised she needed replacement supplies of smokes (apologies friend if this is TMI - it’s like coming out these days). Her daughter was not able to drive, but she was old enough to be the gofer. So, into the car they get to go to the local shop where the daughter was to buy the necessaries. They park outside the door of Alex’s Lucky Lotto on the main street of Dun Laoghaire. Daughter goes in, makes the purchase, back out to the car - all done in less than a minute. My friend goes to start the car. Won’t start. Try again. Won’t start. Try again. Nothing. Problem.
She is going to have to get out of the car. Tries not to think about the nightie-dressing-gown-ensemble reaching only half way down her strong hockey legs (her words) and the pink slippers. Out she gets. Thankfully it is dark. Lift the hood. Lean over and look in at the engine; no idea; not a mechanic; daughter useless; legs bare and feeling the cold; A large black 4x4 draws up behind them. Two women get out and join the chorus of opinions and advice being meted out by passers-by. “D’you want a push love?” “Try again!” “It’s flooded.” “Is it the fan belt?” “We’ll drop you home love, no worries.” “Leave it here.” “You’ll have to leave it.” “Try again.”
Decision made. Abandon the car. But, it’s on a double yellow line and would probably get towed. “Call the guards in Dun Laoghaire love. Tell them the car’s broken down and you’ve to leave it here for the night.” Good plan. Get the phone.
“Hello. Is that Dun Laoghaire Garda station?”
“Yes.”
“My car’s just broken down and I have to leave it here on a double yellow line on the main street.”
“No problem. That’s you outside Alex’s isn’t it?”
“What? How do you know?”
“We can see you. We’ve all been sitting here watching you on CCTV for the last half an hour. Very entertaining.”
If you’ve seen the Starsky and Hutch remake and the CCTV footage of Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson visiting Will Ferrell in prison you’ll get the drift of the horror, no, the HORROR, that this comment caused; and not much consolation that the footage could be used as evidence of her honesty when she was appealing the parking fine in court.
17 February 2014 AH
Women (and probably men too, but I don’t have any data on this) can be divided into those who are occasionally prepared to leave the house wearing their night attire and those who would never do so, under any circumstances. Those in the “yes” camp would say that it was only to hop in the car to drop the kids off to school and there was little risk of being caught out. The “no” camp (I’m in this risk-averse set) are too terrified to ever consider leaving the house in anything other than normal clothes. The must-wear-clean-underwear-in-case-am-in-an-accident type.
I have a friend. Note, this is not a “friend” friend. It was a Friday, about 8pm, and an “evening in” was planned. She had put on her night attire (nightie, dressing gown, slippers) to settle down for a glass of wine and some TV when she realised she needed replacement supplies of smokes (apologies friend if this is TMI - it’s like coming out these days). Her daughter was not able to drive, but she was old enough to be the gofer. So, into the car they get to go to the local shop where the daughter was to buy the necessaries. They park outside the door of Alex’s Lucky Lotto on the main street of Dun Laoghaire. Daughter goes in, makes the purchase, back out to the car - all done in less than a minute. My friend goes to start the car. Won’t start. Try again. Won’t start. Try again. Nothing. Problem.
She is going to have to get out of the car. Tries not to think about the nightie-dressing-gown-ensemble reaching only half way down her strong hockey legs (her words) and the pink slippers. Out she gets. Thankfully it is dark. Lift the hood. Lean over and look in at the engine; no idea; not a mechanic; daughter useless; legs bare and feeling the cold; A large black 4x4 draws up behind them. Two women get out and join the chorus of opinions and advice being meted out by passers-by. “D’you want a push love?” “Try again!” “It’s flooded.” “Is it the fan belt?” “We’ll drop you home love, no worries.” “Leave it here.” “You’ll have to leave it.” “Try again.”
Decision made. Abandon the car. But, it’s on a double yellow line and would probably get towed. “Call the guards in Dun Laoghaire love. Tell them the car’s broken down and you’ve to leave it here for the night.” Good plan. Get the phone.
“Hello. Is that Dun Laoghaire Garda station?”
“Yes.”
“My car’s just broken down and I have to leave it here on a double yellow line on the main street.”
“No problem. That’s you outside Alex’s isn’t it?”
“What? How do you know?”
“We can see you. We’ve all been sitting here watching you on CCTV for the last half an hour. Very entertaining.”
If you’ve seen the Starsky and Hutch remake and the CCTV footage of Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson visiting Will Ferrell in prison you’ll get the drift of the horror, no, the HORROR, that this comment caused; and not much consolation that the footage could be used as evidence of her honesty when she was appealing the parking fine in court.
17 February 2014 AH