Mrs Honesty and her children, Morals, Guilt and Pride

When I was 17 (?) I got my restricted licence, and Mum decided it was OK to let me drive her green Nissan Sentra (kind of like this one but green). On the second day of having my licence, I was in the New World carpark and reversing out of a park (check it out, I'm pretty sure I was in the carpark directly to the left of the little '13' when you zoom as far as you can go). At this time the tribulations of parking and experience in which parks to pick had not been yet bestowed upon me, so I had picked one which was, unbeknown to me, quite tricky to back out of. While keeping my eye on the cars to my left, the ute on my right suffered a scrape down its left side from the front driver-side guard of Mum's car.

Now, as you can imagine this made rather a sound. I was super embarassed, and felt really bad. So I moved the car forward a little, left it running, and got out to check out the massive (by NZ standards, anyway) ute's side. (I think it was something like this). I saw nothing! I was quite surprised, a little suspicious, but mostly relieved. Having completed my check, I sheepishly got back in the car, and continued my journey to the beach.

About 20 minutes later I think, I got a call on my cellphone (OK, no I can't find a photo of my trusty Sagem) from my very angry mother, who yelled a little incoherently about some guy who had the numberplate of her car and who was very angry and upset because his ute had been damaged.

Long story short, I honestly thought I had checked the side of the ute for damage thoroughly, and although admittedly I was in a hurry to remove myself from the carpark, I was satisfied no damage had been done, so nobody needed to know. Turns out someone had heard/seen me do it, written down Mum's car's numberplate, and then given it to ute-man who had got the owner information from the post shop.

Mum was really angry, as was ute-man (fairly enough). I was made to go down to his house with Mum and apologise profusely, all the while him looking at me like I was a no-good piece of vandalising no-good from a no-good background (poor Mum). The damage was paid for by insurance in the end I believe.

But what sticks out most about this memory for me, is the overwhelming guilt and shame I felt, at having been caught out, when I thought I was doing the right thing. I've been thinking about this a bit lately - whether honesty really is the best policy. For me it is, but sometimes I wonder what it's like on the other side of the fence.

At Pak 'n' Save last night, our Shop 'n' Go groceries were picked for a random scan 'n' check. This has happened to us I think 3 times, out of maybe more than 20 (we are S 'n' G noobs). Adrian and I stand there, figuratively twiddling thumbs and figuratively sporting sweat beads on our brows, hoping they will not find something in there we honestly forgot to scan, thereby becoming the stealing she- and he-devils Pak 'n' Save checkout operators must love to hate.

Of course, our self-scan was perfect. On the way down the ramp, we were proud and happy that we were honest people, and this must be our reward.

The subject of honesty also leads, obviously, to morals. See a $20 note fall out of a middle aged rich man's back pocket - pick it up and keep it? Leave it there? Pick it up and run after him to give it back? I know this is a simple example but I think you get my drift.

It might sound smug and a little prudish, but personally I enjoy my ability and desire to be honest. Little things like realising an annoying salesperson has given me $2 more change than he should have, half an hour after leaving the shop; the thought of trying to fool an insurance company; useless service in a restaurant leading to fleeting thoughts of leaving without paying the bill - when these thoughts run through my head, I'm left a tad uneasy.

Another memory I have is of a teddy-bear's picnic when we played Pin the Tail on the Donkey, in a park in Opotiki, when I was, I don't know what age, perhaps 5 - 7 ish. I won, and it was because I peeked under the blindfold. I still feel kinda bad about it now! How OTT is that?

Anyway, I hope my blog on the Honesty Family has been interesting. I think it is one of the many things my parents taught us right.

On a side note, I wish Lady Gaga would stop doing such long scenes in her underwear - it makes me feel dodgy watching them at work.