Primal Sneeze

I was just like any other day. Though listening to the news it may have seemed like one from the 70s or 80s – Don Tidy’s kidnap; fishing vessels in blockade; Britain’s nuclear programme. As an adolescent in the 70s I paid what attention to current affairs as they teachers made me. I remember most of them. As a college student in the 80s and usually sober I remember most of them too.

The only difference yesterday was I had two important tasks to complete: Buy a birthday card, put some cash in it and post it (I know that might be three, but I count it as one), and vote in the Lisbon Treaty referendum. No big deal.

Kathy rang. She had some important business in the town and some groceries to get. Would it be okay if she left Oisín with me? He hasn’t been well all week and she didn’t want him getting cranky during her meeting and having to leave. It would only be 20mins* or so. (*20mins = 1hr in woman-time)

I suggested I go to with them instead. I could feed Oisín while she was doing her important business then we could all go to Tesco – I had some shopping I could do too and I could get the card there. But I warned that I had to be at my relation’s house by 3. Not a second later. The morning care assistant leaves then and while the afternoon one is meant to arrive then too, she is usually late. I really needed to be there as my relation cannot be left alone. She promised.

It went like a dream. Popped into a café. Coffee for me. Mashed banana for himself. Met Kathy at Tesco. Her business had been successful. I pushed the buggy. She pushed the trolley. Oisín flirted with the ladies. One in particular.

The girl on the meat counter is crazy about him and insisted on picking him up. He giggled. He smiled. She danced about with him. Big mistake. I let out a quivering slow motion shout – Noooo! Stoooop! Doooon’t! Too late. His tummy gurgled. He deposited a mashed banana on her shoulder.

Apologies made and a full pack of tissues later we continued shopping. All that was left on the list was papaya (for some new concoction Kathy wanted to make). We couldn’t find any. It’s hard find something when you don’t know what it looks like. I suggest we ask one of the staff. God no! We can’t! They’ll think we’re right culchies all together not recognising papay. I pointed out we are, in fact, culchies. She relented.

All done. Back just in time for 3. I addressed the birthday card. I would easily make the post office by the 4pm collection. With time to spare to buy a stamp, get change and put some money in it. Cast my vote. Back home in jig-time. I should have posted it while we were out but the combination of puke and papaya meant there wasn’t time. But everything would be fine.

3:15 no sign of the care assistant. 3:30 still no sign. She arrived at 3:45. A quick hand-over and I raced out the door. I made the post office just as the mail was being collected. I threw a €10 on the counter. Quick, quick, Mistress Jackie. A stamp quick. And make yer man wait. No, here look, I’ve something smaller. Here’s 60cent.

I remembered I’d no change. Ran around to the shop. Bought a newspaper with a €50 and returned. Rammed a €20 note into the envelope. Sealed it. I’m going now. Hurry up to fek would ya, implored the van driver. Give me that here, Primal. I have the stamp ready. Licked and all, said Mistress Jackie.

Ya what? Ya licked his stamp, grimaced the van driver. Bleegh!

Just jealous you, said Jackie. Just ’cause I wouldn’t like yours for ya.

Oh, the tongue on ya, young lady, I said with fake indignation.

Cue uproarious laughter. (They have a great foley-department at the local post office)

Panic over, I strolled happily down the street to the polling station. The card would arrive right on time for the birthday.

A small panic when I remembered I’d left the €10 on the post office counter. Mistress Jackie would keep it. She’d have it there for me tomorrow. No worries. I felt stupid about doing it though. She’d slag me about it. Plus by tomorrow she’d have realised, just like it was dawning on me now, that she could have changed the €50 instead of me rushing around to the shop like an eejit. She’d slag about that too.

Something else dawned on me. I couldn’t find my polling card. I searched all my pockets. Oh for the lord lamb of divine jayzez, I cried. I’d had it in the same envelope as the birthday card. What possessed me to do that? By now my polling card was on its way to Cork. What would my cousin’s 9-year-old think of me for sending him a polling card for his birthday?

But, look, you don’t need your polling card to vote. Right? You just show your ID and they find you on the list. Right? Everything would be fine.

It wasn’t. To get the full background you really need to read this:

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SHOW/HIDE

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But to make it short, despite reporting the error many times, I always get two polling cards for two polling stations. Both arrive with slightly different addresses.

I handed in my driving licence. I wasn’t on the register. Ah well, you see … and I started to explain about the two polling cards and the two addresses and how there was a panic and the card for this station was gone to Cork and how Jackie licked my stamp and I forgot a €10 and how the care assistant was late and how I now know what papaya looks like and that my friend’s baby is barred from the butcher’s in Tesco. Looking back, it probably sounded all Alice’s Restaurant with four-part harmony and shovels, and rakes, and implements of destruction.

I was pointed to a row of seats by the wall and told to sit down while they made some calls. I think it was the Group-W bench. The Garda on duty came to stand beside me. Did they think I was impersonating myself?

Half an hour later I was told I could vote. But that I should really ensure my details were correct on the register for the future. Ah well, you see … and I started to explain about the County Council official who came to my house a couple of years back and how she ate all my custard creams and how … But I stopped. I just voted and walked out. I didn’t want to be put back on the Group-W bench again.