I was at a leaving ‘do’ last week for a colleague who is moving to Australia. The ‘do’ wasn’t very close to where I live so I had to drive there, and obviously not drink. This is not a good start to the evening. I am much funnier after a few pints. And a better dancer.

I park the car in the multistory car park, which as you already know is not my most favourite of places, but it was evening, so there were no problems finding a space.

I join my colleagues for dinner at a nearby restaurant and spend my time making interesting conversation and keeping everyones rapt attention with amusing anecdotes from my incredibly interesting life (I am available for birthdays, anniversaries and bar mitzvahs btw).

After dinner we go to a local pub where I reluctantly put on my isn’t-lemonade-a-lovely-drink face, but I leave after just one R Whites as most of the others began to get very pissed indeed. If I’m not drinking, then noone else should be either.

After walking the five minutes back to the car park I go through my pockets looking for my car park ticket, but somehow it appears to have gone missing. I have eight pockets on my person and I check all of them. Twice. The ticket is not there. I begin to panic. The car park is almost deserted, and I am without my means of exit.

I go to the machine where I would ordinarily pay my one pound fee for post-7pm parking and press the “Assistance” buzzer whilst rehearsing my “I really did have a ticket honestly” story. The sign tells me a lost ticket is £15. I am resolved to not paying this. I consider the feasibility of pulling up local CCTV footage of my estimated arrival time.

There is no response. Nothing. I press it again. And again. Five minutes later still no response. My options are now even more limited. I have just begun finalising the logistics associated with ramming the exit barrier when one of my fellow tee-total-for-the-evening colleagues returns to her car. Hurrah! A cunning plan is quickly devised where she will exit as usual and then go back to the entrance, get a ticket, then reverse back out and drive away leaving me with a ticket to get out. This is a brilliant plan! It’s thinking like this that separates us from the French. (more…)

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