I finished my shift at seven and pulled into a supermarket to buy some bits as you do.  As I rounded the last rack of parking spots I braked suddenly to avoid running a man over, and he waved and smiled pleasantly, crossing my path.  I parked up and headed toward the ATM.

I was standing in the queue for the cash machine when I heard his voice over my shoulder.

“Have you many hours left to work?”  I turned around.  It was the same man… he was dark skinned, holding a mobile phone in his hand and wearing a pretty naff jumper.  He spoke with a true Irish accent and with the smile of a thousand sailors.

“No I’m finished, thank God!”  I instantly knew that saying this was a bad idea… an ONOsecond later I realised I’d just told him there was a rake of cash in my car.

“Hey!  I know you from somewhere!” (Warning bell #1)

“Uhhh… I don’t recognise you, mate.”

“Yeah… you’re… ummm… it was last week, you said you were from… where was it again?”

“I live near Jack Whites Pub”  I said.  DAMMIT!  Stop answering questions!!!  I mentally slapped myself hard across the face.

“Ahh yeah, yeah, that’s right… I’m from Ashford meself, that’s how I know you.” 

“What?!”  I laughed in disbelief and turned away.  Second in line now.

He continued the conversation anyway, telling me how he’d got a new bank card in the post but he’d forgotten the PIN, and that he had no diesel, and he had to drive to Stillorgan to pick up his sister…  he babbled away while Alarm bells #2, #3 and #4 rang for Ireland in my brain.

It’s my turn at the ATM, and this dude is still there, floating nervously about with a mobile phone stuck to his ear, invading my bubble and triggering Alarm bell #5.  I inserted the card and typed four digits, then entered the cash request, only to have it tell me my PIN was incorrect.

“Oh dear!”  I said loudly.  “Wrong card!!  You’ve jinxed me!  Tell you what… here’s a fiver, hope it helps!”

He looked at the five euro note in my hand and put on his sad face.

“Maybe if you could lend me ten or twenty euros, I could put it in an envelope for you and drop it into Jack Whites!  Here’s my number, look, on me phone… take it down.”  Alarm bell #6 jingled away as I smiled like a siamese on the outside.

“Sorry, that’s a no… I’ve been stung with that one before!!”

“Look, here’s my number…”

“Take the fiver and keep hustling.  You’re doing a great job.”  I walked back to my car and inserted every last penny of its contents into my shoulder bag which I slung round my neck and tightened nice and snug.   The man had walked away and was talking to a tall lady in white slapper boots, so I snuck back to the cash-machine and withdrew my shopping money on the sly.

When I’d finished bribing my trolley to come along, I walked in through the front door of the shop and glanced behind me, to see the lady in the slapper boots right on my tail.  I made a point of noticing her, but she looked away and fell behind.  A bag of apples, 4 red onions and a watermelon later, I turned to see that she had returned and was lingering behind me… I knew I felt her eyes.

I abandoned the trolley and went back outside, to see if I could find yer man with the fiver.  No sign whatsoever, nothing to report to the security staff.  I continued my efforts to blow 200 quid on random effects and checked it all out with no bother at all from anyone, even though I was bricking huge chunks of paranoia all the while.  The white booted lady was waiting outside (for an hour?!?!) but did nothing as I passed her, so I sorted my bits and bolted.

Maybe he was telling the truth, maybe the white booted lady was a coincidence… but I know from my poker endeavours that good faith doesn’t mean much these days.  Anyway I don’t have a diary so this is the next best thing and it felt like it needed noting.  You just read my diary!  How very dare you.