Friday, March 20, 2009
I just went out to pick up a parcel from the NZ Courier warehouse in Morningside (for life). I was stopped at the Upper Queen Street traffic lights – minding my own business – when some guy came up and knocked on my window. Not wanting to be impolite, I wound it down and asked how I could help. "Are you going to Dominion Road?" he asked. "Yes, yes I am," I replied. "Great," he said, and jumped in. I was now faced with a predicament. Ask him to exit my vehicle and risk confrontation (my greatest fear), or drive him to Dominion Road and hope he wouldn't assault me, rape me or steal my car.
I chose the latter.
He smelt like stale cigarettes. Not a good sign, I thought to myself. Criminals always smoke in movies you see. He introduced himself and said he needed to get to his car which had broken down. Ok, sounds fair enough I thought. After about 20 seconds he started giving me his spiel. Car had broken down, wallet had been stolen with $680 cash in it, needed to get to Hamilton by bus, could he borrow $40? He started looking around the car; at my dashboard, the compartments in between the front chairs, then over at me, his eyes finally resting on my wallet sitting on my lap. At that point I dropped my wallet – very subtly, I might add – down the side of the driver's door.
I started to sweat. "I don't have any money," I told him. "What do you do for a job?" he enquired. "Unemployed," I said as naturally as possible. "Where am I dropping you?" I asked. "Dominion Road, by the Catholic Church," he said. "I can only drop you off at the top of Dominion Road, I'm not going in that direction," I said, hoping like hell he wouldn't get angry and beat me. Or steal my car. "Just a little bit further than that," he said. "Ummmmmm ok."
I can't say my life was flashing before my eyes but I was feeling pretty scared and foolish for allowing this strange man to get into my car. I made it to Dominion Road in one piece and pulled over. "You have to get out here," I said. "You can't take me further?" he asked, a menacing tone appearing in his voice. "Ummmm (don't cry don't cry don't cry) no sorry, I have to go a different way." "Ok," he said, and hopped out. I pulled away as fast as I could, shaking like an epileptic, and drove off.
At the courier warehouse, the package above was waiting for me, from Fresh PR. Inside was an exciting and useful combination of haircare and skincare products from Sebastien and Dr Lewinns.
Despite the ordeal of picking up the package (it just goes to show you should never leave the house, you don't know when a courier might be coming round), the fruits of the labour certainly paid off.
Thanks to Fresh PR!