Kevin Page: Babe - Piggish behaviour in the city

Rotorua was full to the brim with Easter visitors and locals you never want to bump into. Photo / File

Sometimes you just want to crawl into a hole with embarrassment ...

Like when you've dashed out to the letterbox in your boxers early in the morning to get the paper and the front door has shut behind you, locking you out. Or what about when you've stood in front of a room full of people at a conference to deliver a speech only to discover you've stood there for the entire 40 minutes with your fly wide open.

Of course it's not always you who is embarrassed, necessitating the digging of a hole to crawl into. Sometimes other people, complete strangers even, can embarrass you.

Such was the case last week at my local service station.

Chock to the brim with Easter visitors to town there was a queue for the bowser and then a queue to get to the cashier.

Into this chaos drove a van piloted by a, shall we say, ample lady wedged behind the wheel. I won't identify her further for risk of offence but take my word for it. She was obviously local. And she was about to embarrass me, you and every other citizen of our fair city.

Anyway. There I am at the service station, patiently awaiting my turn to take out a second mortgage and fill the car.

Eventually I pull up next to the bowser and punch in my desired numbers. Nothing.

I wave out to the attendant in the hope he'll see I'm not a petrol thief, give me the all-clear and release the pump. No joy. Bugger. Obviously the unshaven, black T-shirt holiday look has triggered some alarm bells and he's not giving me a drop till I come up with the readies.

By this stage the queue is half out the door but I've got no choice and go and join the masses staring at the temptingly placed Snickers bars and Penthouse magazines while we inch closer to the counter.

As we shuffle forward the aforementioned van rolls in and the woman's partner comes to join the end of the queue.

As he sets up camp, she winds down the window of the van and hollers across the forecourt, in front of everybody, locals and visitors alike: "Hey Babe, get me a #%1^*@ pie too!"

I look up from the very interesting article I'm reading in Penthouse to see Babe cringe with embarrassment. Some in the queue stifle a giggle. Some are shocked.

Gradually the queue shuffles along towards the counter and Babe puts his head down.

At this stage his "lady" decides she needs to make sure he heard the "more food" message. One of the kids is dispatched from within the bowels of the van and races inside.

"Dad, mum wants a #%1^*@ pie" the youngster repeats solemnly, no doubt hoping to illicit some praise from Babe and then, to underscore his complete innocence at what he's just passed on, "... and can I have an ice block?"

What do they say about learned behaviour? Anyway, this time most of the queue giggled. I didn't say anything but I wish I had. I wanted to say: "Mate, they're are out of #%1^*@ pies but the mince and cheese are good".

Trouble is I thought I might end up with a pie in the face for sticking my nose in, so let it slide.

Now I'm wondering what sort of impression the little exchange has left on our visitors, those people that come to our city to spend money and keep us all in the manner to which we've become accustomed.

I'm wondering if van woman and Babe will be out getting petrol this Anzac holiday weekend or indeed the upcoming marathon weekend when there will be lots more visitors around. Let's hope we leave a good impression and the visitors return again and again.

And let's hope van lady has had a #%1^*@ pie before she goes out.

Kevin Page has been a journalist for 34 years. He hasn't made enough money to retire after writing about serious topics for years so he's giving humour a shot instead.