The shopping trip involved a frantic dash to retrieve Mrs P's wallet. Photo /123rf
In the course of my research for my words of wisdom this week, I’ve discovered I’m not the only one who has left something behind somewhere at some stage.
Indeed, several of my pals have found themselves losing things of varying importance over the years.
One in particular left something so important behind that it ended up costing him a great deal of money. More on that later.
For now, let me explain about my own misfortune. Or rather Mrs P’s misfortune, which became mine because she was too embarrassed to face those who would judge her.
Anyway.
There we are the other week in a rather fancy department store in a rather big city. As mentioned last week, we are looking for a wedding dress. Mother of the groom, that is, rather than a dress for the bride.
Naturally, several other blokes and I are ambling around the copious racks of dresses trying to appear interested, but in reality we are wondering how the tilers managed to cut the curved edge into the carpet and how come you can’t see any lines in the paintwork on the walls.
Important stuff like that.
Oh, and we’re also trying not to be caught looking dodgy outside the changing rooms which, as I’m sure many of our fellows will tell you, is nigh on impossible when you are commanded to hang around to advise on whether garment A or B is the right size/colour or makes a rear end look bigger.
I’m sure you get my drift.
So. There we are and I get the call from Mrs P.
Dutifully, I trudge into the female changing area – head and eyes down of course – until I reach the cubicle My Beloved is standing in.
It has to be said she’s standing there resplendent in a rather fetching outfit. I believe the term is actually “Phwoar”!
Unfortunately, nothing I say – or noise I make – is going to convince her to hurriedly buy it so we can end my discomfort and quickly move on. Nope. She wants me to take a picture with her phone so she can send it to “The Girls” for their opinion.
Experience has told me not to argue, so I quickly remove the phone from its wallet, snap two or three pictures and hightail it back outside where the curved tiles and smooth painted lines immediately usher in some much-needed serenity and calmness.
Happy she has prompted discussion among her self-appointed wedding dress selection committee, Mrs P is eagerly checking a barrage of texts as we get back to the car and head across the city to our next destination, thankfully some 10 minutes before the rush-hour mayhem starts.
That’s when we discovered a problem.
Well not quite exactly then. We actually discovered there was an issue some five minutes later in the supermarket, at the checkout, when we went to pay for the particular important gluten-free item Mrs P was trying to purchase.
She had no money. In fact, she had nothing at all. No Eftpos or credit cards. No driver’s licence. Not even the wallet they were all in not 20 minutes earlier back across town at that posh department store.
The same one where she’d removed her phone from its wallet so I could take a picture of the special dress. The same one where it now seemed she’d left/lost all her money, store and identity cards.
Now, I don’t know about you dear reader, but in such times of adversity I firmly believe you have two choices.
You can get off your chuff and do something about it or you can whinge, moan, call yourself a twat and give up on ever seeing the lost item again. Obviously, some bugger will have pinched it.
I have to say Mrs P was leaning towards the latter back in the supermarket carpark as we considered our predicament.
In her defence, I would agree the odds of us getting the wallet and its contents back were stacked against us, especially because we would need to race back across town in rush-hour traffic just to have a chance.
But what the heck. Life is for living. We would give it a go.
And so, off we set – testing the boundaries of the speed limit I’ll admit – back from whence we came. As we did so, Mrs P tried to call ahead to the store without success. Obviously, nobody wants to take a call right on closing.
I’m not exaggerating here when I say the gods must have been on our side as we inched closer to the department store in question.
Like some biblical miracle, the traffic parted every time we needed it to and lights turned green as we approached.
Even the parking building we’d been in earlier seemed to be in on the game. We got a spot right next to the stairwell on the first floor when previously we’d had to go up the levels so high I thought I would get a nosebleed.
We raced into the store like two fugitives in a Hollywood movie and found the desk in question just as the nice lady who’d helped Mrs P earlier was closing up.
“You’ve come back for this, I presume?” she said with a smile, holding out Mrs P’s wallet – no mean feat because it’s pretty thick and heavy – complete with every card and piece of ID she’s owned since she was 7 years old I reckon.
Anyway.
Our faith in humanity restored, we ambled back to the car and plunged into the rush-hour chaos where, this time, every light was against us and no gaps opened up at all.
As we sat there inching down the road we recalled a time many years ago when we had travelled round the world and were in Hong Kong on our final day before heading home and I’d left the camera with all our holiday snaps on a bench at the top of a mountain.
Now if you’ve been to Hong Kong you’ll know it is simply madness. Something like 6 million people all rushing about like crazy over every square inch of the place.
It had taken us the best part of two hours by taxi, bus, ferry, bus and tram to get to the top of the mountain and there I was having to do the same thing in reverse some hours later just in case the camera was still there where I’d left it.
And it was. Sitting all alone on this bench. In the gathering darkness, people all around completely ignoring it.
I was pretty sure that wouldn’t have happened in my home town of London where we’d just spent a good deal of time. Then again maybe the good folk of Hong Kong were far too advanced technologically to waste time with my outdated old camera.
Later the other day, back at home base, I had one of those video catch-up calls with some mates where I relayed the tale of our day’s adventure. Or should that be misadventure.
One or two of them had had similar experiences – losing keys, glasses etc – but we were all heartened by the fact none were as bad as one of our number – he knows who he is – who will take some beating when it comes to leaving things behind.
He went on a trip to Australia many moons ago and took in a tour of the Melbourne Cricket Ground while his wife went shopping.
A cricket fanatic, he was buzzing and on a high after the guided tour and raced back to his son’s place immediately after, eager to share his experience.
Unfortunately, he was so caught up in the wonder of the moment he forgot to pick up his wife as prearranged.
Needless to say she was not amused and they split a short time after they got home.
Post-season monitoring recorded 50 individual tara iti, up from 33 last year.