Rebecca Barry: The Scarlosh effect

I was at a bar on Ponsonby Rd on Friday night, sitting outside under the heater, when a taxi pulled up. A crappy white one, possibly a Nissan or Toyota, circa 1988.

The driver turned off the engine. A brunette got out the front. A couple of Hollywood Stars got out the back. The brunette looked stressed. She left her Hollywood Stars unattended on the footpath, and walked around to the entrance of the bar.

While she was preoccupied, I said to my friend, "Look. There are some Hollywood Stars on the footpath."

My friend walked over and gave them her business card. I'm not sure what possessed her to treat this as a personal marketing opportunity. But who's to say the Hollywood Stars won't return to their $9.5 million love nest, pull out the card and go, ooh, wouldn't that girl make a bloody good assistant? Let's fly her over right away to co-ordinate our Emmy outfits.

Meanwhile, I texted another friend - who happens to be in love with the Girl Hollywood Star - that this momentous occasion was unfolding before my very eyes.

He usually doesn't have money on his cellphone but he rang me straight away, screamed "Liar!" then immediately texted a message to please pass on to her. I decided this might look a bit creepy so didn't.

Then the brunette girl must have decided she didn't like the look of the bar - or was it the patrons? - and packed the Hollywood Stars back into the taxi.

By this stage, most of the people outside had realised there were Hollywood Stars practically sharing their oxygen. They were all looking into the taxi.

The taxi tried to pull away. I say tried because it almost crashed into a car that was coming along Ponsonby Rd, such was the anxiety of the driver transporting such precious cargo. It was almost a Di and Dodi moment. During this extra ogling time, I noticed the Girl Hollywood Star had big lips, just like she does in the movies. The Boy Hollywood Star was skinny with geek glasses on.

Then the crappy white taxi's fan belt made a loud, squeaking noise and they drove off. It was quite something.

I got the paper the next day and before reading the big expose on the terrorist foil, I turned to the page that said the Hollywood Stars had been to buy Thai takeaways on Ponsonby Rd earlier in the week. Instead of the waitress asking if they'd like their chicken massaman mild or spicy, she had said, "Are you Hollywood Stars?"

"Yes," they'd replied.

What's funny about this whole thing is that everyone involved acted weird: me, the brunette, my friends, the taxi driver, the Thai takeaway lady and even the Hollywood Stars. I'm no scientist but there's something disturbing about the magnetic field surrounding these people, the effect they have on our dignity. And just because they're not humans doesn't mean we shouldn't treat them like humans. I mean, aren't they trying to tell us something by riding around Ponsonby in a crappy white taxi and wearing hoodies and nose rings to Thai takeaway outlets? They're dying to be like us. Don't be surprised if you see them get off the Link bus outside the supermarket - oh, what a heart-warming moment that would be.

While we're on the topic, what's with those TVNZ billboards on the bus stops? There's one next to Victoria Park Market with a big photo of newsreaders Simon Dallow and Wendy Petrie, that reads, "Working Parents: Are our kids missing out?" On what, exactly? Getting their eyebrows plucked by Wendy Petrie? I would attempt to answer this useful question, seeing as I just can't seem to stop sending informative text messages but I am not convinced that answering with one word is worth 20 cents, unless of course it's voting for NZ Idol.

I wonder how TVNZ is planning to use this information.

"Look Simon, we got 18 yes's and 19 no's. So, that concludes that kids with working parents aren't missing out. Next question."

How about, should Hollywood Stars be allowed to gallivant around town pretending to be normal?

I would text: 'no, shld be mre lke prper 1's.".