Friday, January 16, 2015

Girl Friday: You Don't Remember Me?

The first 'Girl Friday' post of the year reminds me of a comical story that happened to me recently. I entered a lift with a man, who already smilingly said hi to me in front of the lift. I had no idea who he was, but I said hi back. Let's be honest - a little 'hi' doesn't hurt. When it was the two of us in the lift, the man started talking to me and asked: "You don't remember me?" 

If I'm honest, I'd woken up too early in the morning, and half of me was still asleep. But it's not the nicest to reply "Yes, that's right, I don't remember you." But I was apparently still tired enough to reply that I really didn't remember... The man didn't let this intimidate him, and he said I'd hitchhiked onto his car and I'd told him about my plans to become a journalist ... And then he added that he's kept an eye on my doings. I think this sentence woke me up quicker than morning coffee.


Actually this has happened before. A few years ago a man informed me unexpectedly at a bus stop that I'd hitchhiked to his car, but now he doesn't have one any more. I remember vaguely that those stories have happened more... I hitchhiked since the age of 15 for about 6-7 years straight. My friend lived out of town, and I could never be bothered to catch the bus. I normally waited for some more luxurious car (yes, I'm a total snob - why hitchike on a Ford Sierra when the next machine could be a Mercedes?). I hitchhiked and always got a ride. When I got out of the lift that morning, wishing happy new year, I thought that I've actually been lucky. I've hitchhiked from one town to another for seven year, in broad daylight, in the dark, in the summer, winter, and I've always been picked up by nice people. It has to be said I'd never let my daughter to hitchhike and I haven't done it for a long time myself. With this post I thank all of those who've offered me a ride, and I'll also take the chance to apologise to the strangers whom I've bored to death when talking about how I have to become a reporter... But not quite to death. Who knows whom I'll bump into in the lift tomorrow.

Outfit details: 

Dress: adidas
Shoes: ASOS
Watch: Marc By Marc Jacobs
Earrings: Pi-Ret Jewelry "Ruby On The Moon" (here)
Make up: Dior




Selle aasta esimene "Girl Friday" postitus meenutab mulle koomilist lugu, mis  hiljuti juhtus. Ma sisenesin lifti koos ühe härraga, kes mulle juba lifti ees naeratades tere ütles. Mul polnud kõige vähemat aimu, kes ta on, aga teretasin vastu. Olgem ausad - ega see tere ju tükki küljest võta. Kui olime kahekesi liftis, alutas mees vestlust. "Sa ei mäleta mind?" 

Kui aus olla, olin ma hommikul ärganud liiga vara ja pool minust veel vaikselt tukkus. Omamoodi ju päris ebameeldiv vastata: "Kuule jah, ma ei mäleta sind." Aga ma olin vist jätkuvalt nii unine, et vastasin: "Ma tõesti ei mäleta..." Mees ei lasknud end heidutada: "Sa hääletasid aastaid tagasi mu auto peale! Rääkisid, et tahad saada ajakirjanikuks ja igast plaane ... Ma olen ikka jälginud su tegemisi!" Ma arvan, et see lause äratas mind kiiremini, kui hommikune kohvi. Igast plaane? Taevas küll, mida kõike ma võisin võõrale kokku pudrutada?

Tegelikult on seda juhtunud ka varem. Paar aastat tagasi teatas üks härra samuti ootamatult bussipeatuses, et olin tema auto peale hääletanud, kuid nüüd tal autot enam pole. Ähmaselt meenub, et neid lugusid on mul juhtunud veel... Ma hääletasin alates 15 eluaastast vähemalt 6-7 aastat jutti. Mu sõbranna elas linnast väljas ja ma ei viitsinud iial bussiga koju sõita. Ootasin tavaliselt mõnd luksuslikumat masinat (jep, ma olen täielik snoob - milleks hääletada Ford Sierra peale, kui järgmine masin võib olla Mercedes?). Kui tol hommikul head uut aastat soovides liftist väljusin, mõtlesin, et tegelikult on mul vedanud. Ma olen seitse aastat hääletanud ühest linnast teise, valges ja pimedas, suvel ja talvel ning mind on kohale viinud alati sõbralikud inimesed. Olgu öeldud, et oma tütrel ei lubaks ma iial hääletada ja ise ei tee seda enam ammu. Selle postitusega tänan kõiki neid, kes mulle kunagi on küüti pakkunud ja ühtlasi vabandan kõigi mind sõidutanud võõraste ees, et rääksisin nad surnuks sellest, kuidas minust peab kunagi reporter saama ... Aga mitte päris surnuks. Kes teab, kellega ma homme liftis kokku põrkan?   



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