I experienced a form of legalised mugging a few
weeks ago just before Christmas.
I was off work with laryngitis and had to give a leaving present that I’d bought on behalf of all the staff to a work colleague so that she could take it into work.
I sometimes get a warning twinge of intuition that I have learnt over the years to listen to. On this occasion as I tried to talk on the phone with my raspy voice I asked my colleague about parking. She lives in the centre of town and I was worried about finding a place where I could park easily.
‘No worries,’ the work colleague said on the phone. ‘After six it’s free.’
So I waited for the magical witching hour of six o’clock and drove into one of the empty bays outside her flat. There were many empty parking spaces and I was surprised but gave it little thought.
My work colleague treated me to a cup of tea and said how much she liked the gift. Speaking was really hard for me so as my voice faded away into various whispery squeaky sharps flats, it was time for me to fade away too. I’d only been there for half an hour but outside my car had already been clamped.
When all I wanted was to return to my bed with a hot water bottle I was now instead without credit or debit card or mobile phone shivering outside in the car park under a black sky.
My work colleague apologetically explained that she had meant that the parking was free in a different bay. She rang the number and tried to reason with the clamper man. He arrived and sat in his unmarked white van chewing gum as I approached. You could see immediately that his was a face that had been called all the names under the sun and that every wounding word had slid off his features without causing so much as a scratch. Equally I could see that no amount of reasoning, pleading, or explaining would touch him either. Any appeals about it being Christmas would also cut no ice. His face was blank, expressionless, implacable. He’d heard it all before. He wasn’t interested. He didn’t care. It was his job.
I didn’t bother to insult or plead.
I just wanted to get back home.
Clamper Man had to drive me back to my house so that I could pick up my debit card. Then he drove me on to Morrisons so I could withdraw the eighty pound release fee. He then drove me back to the empty car park, and once the money was in his hands he easily turned the key in the clamp’s locks and within seconds my car was my own again.
All in all, it was not a pleasant experience being driven to a cash point by a total stranger. I was chilled and shivering when I finally got into my car. The Clamper Man had driven all the way to the cash point and back with his window open.
My only consolation was that while he was busy driving me around the town he was not able to clamp others.
The money I paid him was going to be used in part for a Christmas tree, so also on the bright side at least I won’t have any pine needles to sweep up.
And even better my friend who was leaving work received her gift and was delighted by it.
And I at least had a tale to tell.
I was off work with laryngitis and had to give a leaving present that I’d bought on behalf of all the staff to a work colleague so that she could take it into work.
I sometimes get a warning twinge of intuition that I have learnt over the years to listen to. On this occasion as I tried to talk on the phone with my raspy voice I asked my colleague about parking. She lives in the centre of town and I was worried about finding a place where I could park easily.
‘No worries,’ the work colleague said on the phone. ‘After six it’s free.’
So I waited for the magical witching hour of six o’clock and drove into one of the empty bays outside her flat. There were many empty parking spaces and I was surprised but gave it little thought.
My work colleague treated me to a cup of tea and said how much she liked the gift. Speaking was really hard for me so as my voice faded away into various whispery squeaky sharps flats, it was time for me to fade away too. I’d only been there for half an hour but outside my car had already been clamped.
When all I wanted was to return to my bed with a hot water bottle I was now instead without credit or debit card or mobile phone shivering outside in the car park under a black sky.
My work colleague apologetically explained that she had meant that the parking was free in a different bay. She rang the number and tried to reason with the clamper man. He arrived and sat in his unmarked white van chewing gum as I approached. You could see immediately that his was a face that had been called all the names under the sun and that every wounding word had slid off his features without causing so much as a scratch. Equally I could see that no amount of reasoning, pleading, or explaining would touch him either. Any appeals about it being Christmas would also cut no ice. His face was blank, expressionless, implacable. He’d heard it all before. He wasn’t interested. He didn’t care. It was his job.
I didn’t bother to insult or plead.
I just wanted to get back home.
Clamper Man had to drive me back to my house so that I could pick up my debit card. Then he drove me on to Morrisons so I could withdraw the eighty pound release fee. He then drove me back to the empty car park, and once the money was in his hands he easily turned the key in the clamp’s locks and within seconds my car was my own again.
All in all, it was not a pleasant experience being driven to a cash point by a total stranger. I was chilled and shivering when I finally got into my car. The Clamper Man had driven all the way to the cash point and back with his window open.
My only consolation was that while he was busy driving me around the town he was not able to clamp others.
The money I paid him was going to be used in part for a Christmas tree, so also on the bright side at least I won’t have any pine needles to sweep up.
And even better my friend who was leaving work received her gift and was delighted by it.
And I at least had a tale to tell.
No comments:
Post a Comment