This is a true story…

I did the shopping yesterday, in a bit of a rush because I had to get back to collect Grace from creche. I went quicker than usual up and down the aisles. My average style is to take my time: I love supermarket shopping, especially comparing the unit prices; I find it therapeutic.  [In case you’re interested, I bought 31 items.  Top price 9.99 euro for chicken breasts.  Irish made purchases 35%.]

Outside there was high drama.

Two JCBs digging up half the carpark.  Part of a massive project to construct a much bigger supermarket by adding on a new building.  

Being a curious person and an amateur photographer, I took a few photos on my mobile phone. That’s the sort of thing I do, as I’m going about my business.

 

Abruptly this man in a grey beard came up to me and demanded to know what I was up to.  No introduction.  No trace of "excuse me,  I’m …."  In other words, a complete stranger with no more authority than his demanding voice interrupted me: "What are you doing?" 

I was cross, and having none of it.  I turned on him.

"How dare you speak to me like that.  I’m in a public place, and I’m perfectly entitled to take whatever photographs I like. You can go away."

 

He persisted.  He stood in front of me with a demanding looking on his face.  I didn’t give him much time to explain himself.

"You have no right to come up to me.  Who are you?  Where’s your identification?  You have no manners.  Why didn’t you say ‘excuse me, and introduce yourself?"

The man must have said something but it certainly wasn’t to apologise or introduce himself.  I went on…

"Are you the owner of this supermarket, because if you are I’m never shopping here again.  Just go away.  I have nothing to say to you.  Go away.  Leave me alone."

I got into my car slowly and drove off to collect Grace.  My bloodpressure was up.  I was much too excited for my own good.  I still don’t know who that man was.  He may have been head of site security who was off-duty.  He may have been a relative of the supermarket owner.  He may have been a JCB driver.  He may have been a freelance photographer who wanted to get his photos into the local paper and was afraid I’d queer his pitch.  I hope I never find out.

I think I’ve become a bit sensitive about the rights of the citizen in Ireland…

the little person faced with intimidating power of the ruling class. I think I treated him as if he were a representative of the ruling class intent at restricting my freedom of action.  I was fighting back against faceless authority.  I wasn’t going to be pushed around anymore.

There are times when I think my tendency to hypomania is a help to me.  But was this one of those occasions?  Would I have been better to have quietly waiting to hear him out and listen to whatever he wanted to say and do?

I certainly gave him a mouthful, but was that the best thing to do in the circumstances?

We’ll never know.  All we know is what happened, and we don’t even know the other man’s point of view. 

But  I feel OK after it, a lot better than I felt in Mahon Point when a security guard intimidated me and I deleted photographs off my camera in December 2005. That’s another story.

[As for the photos, I’ll post one later.]