Apparently, a love of street-sign-art is an inherited trait.
Have you ever seen or heard something that catapulted you back in time to an experience you hadn’t thought about in years? Well, one day last week that very thing happened to me.
Out of the blue, via WhatsApp, my 78-year-old dad sent me pictures of his new ‘art work’.
Now, let’s just be clear. My dad is not the most tech-savvy gent. He struggles to use WhatsApp, and explaining email and attachments is like talking Greek to a man who has never tasted tzatziki. So, you can imagine my surprise when he sent pictures that were not the usual forwarded-from-someone-else-with-no-context-at-all type messages. These were pictures that a) included him, and b) included the new ‘art’ on the walls of his kitchen.
I use the term ‘art’ loosely.
These were were construction signs. You know, the kind put up near road work to notify drivers and passers by that there is danger lurking nearby.
Not exactly artwork.
Apparently, he found them, discarded after road repair and chucked over a fence. I can only imagine his glee at finding this treasure. He even spent time getting them all cleaned up — I mean, they were splattered with tar, afterall 🤷🏼♀️
At this point, you might be curious what ‘memory’ this predilection for turning trash into artwork might have uprooted. Well, I’m glad you asked.
A little background context for todays tale is needed.
When I was in my late teens/early twenties, I attended the University of Galway, Ireland. It is now known by another name, but that is neither here nor there.
When you are a young University student in Ireland — at least back in the early nineties — one may or may not have enjoyed a beverage or two with their friends, followed by some dancing at a disco, followed by some wobbling back home, on an appoximately weekly basis.
Most students then did not own vehicles (probably just as well). Cars were extremely expensive, and petrol (gasoline for most of you) was almost more expensive than the car itself. Nevermind the cost of insurance. So, you see, it was absolutely cost-prohibitive for most students to drive. So we walked everywhere. Or rode a bicycle.
Again, just as well, given the common fondness for a few beverages of an alcoholic nature.
On this particular evening, I didn’t ride my bicycle. Which was a good thing as it turned out, because otherwise the story I’m telling wouldn’t have happened. (It might also be considered a bad thing, depending on how you look at it — but I’ll leave that for you to decide).
I shared a house with four other girls (women, really, but we referred to each other as girls). All of us students. All of us enjoyed a few beverages, some dancing, and general fun shenanigans.
As most students did back then, we went out on Thursday nights. I mean, it felt like EVERYONE went out on Thursday nights (except the extreme nerds, and god-forbid you were an extreme nerd). You saved your pennies and planned how many drinks you could buy, and you planned where you were going dancing.
You also wore your cutest shoes that allowed you to walk the approximately 2 miles (maybe more) to where the discos and bars were aplenty, and the same distance home.
This particular night, after having probably more drinks than a respectable young woman should have, my friend and I were walking home. We decided to take a ‘shortcut’ through the University campus. In doing so, we passed right by an area where they were undertaking some road repair.
Right there, all by itself, sat a gigantic ‘men at work’ sign. It was clean, reflective, shiny. And it said ‘Men at Work’ in big bold black letters on a yellow reflective surface (this was the early nineties, in the West of Ireland — we weren’t as concerned about discrimination on road signs back then it seems). Which, as two females who lived in a household of 5 young females, we thought was inordinately funny. (It might have been the beverages talking).
But, as young women (who had had too many beverages) might do, we decided the best and most hilarious course of action would be to take this sign home. The plan was to prop it on the lawn in front of our tiny townhouse. But perhaps in our living room (where it would take up most of the floorspace), because “what if anybody saw it and reported it?”.
We were big thinkers, that’s for sure.
The only issue was how we were going to ‘sneak’ a gigantic sign that was probably 48″ x 48″, weighing about 70 lbs, on foot about 2 miles. Most importantly, how were we going to get this off of campus without being noticed by campus security?
After much giggling, snorting and general carrying on two young women who had had too many beverages might be expected to do, I took off my jacket and draped it over the giant yellow reflective surface of the sign. It only covered about 60% of the surface, but we managed to convince ourselves that if we walked in tandem our bodies would cover or camoflage the parts that remained uncovered.
We really did think this whole thing through, you see. ( Big thinkers).
We were wrong. Of course.
About all of the things.
Now, in fairness to us, despite our giggling to the point of not being able to breathe, and needing to stop a multitude of times to breathe, rest and adjust our carrying position, we made it probably 2/3 of the way home. Through the entire campus. Across a massive intersection, through two residential communities.
I mean, did we sort-of notice that there seemed to be a car tailing us for a while? Yes, but only in the ‘I’m sort of aware of a fly buzzing about above my head’ way. Or maybe in the “if we don’t look, it’s not happening” way? Or perhaps both.
Now, since there was only about 2 cars on the road that night, it should have been far more obvious to us that this particular vehicle was slowly following us for the best part of a mile. There may or may not have been a joke about if this was someone trying to abduct us, someone would notice an abandoned ‘Men at Work’ sign and call foul play. Which resulted in more laughter and tears.
It sounded legit to us at the time. (Remember, big thinkers).
I’m still not sure why he waited so long to stop us. But looking back now, my guess is that he was laughing too hard to pull us over and handle the situation with a straight face.
At any rate, at one of our ‘rest stops,’ the security guard from the University campus stopped his little car and asked us what we were doing.
We were suddenly very serious and very sober.
I mean, there really wasn’t much to say. We were caught red-handed. With a giant ‘Men at Work’ sign.
I don’t remember exactly what was said (for obvious reasons), but I do remember stumbling and fumbling on my words. And grudgingly handing over my Campus Identity Card.
Oh god.
We slinked off in shame towards our house while he piled the huge sign into the back of his campus security hatchback ( how did we not notice it was a navy blue, campus security hatchback?).
My friend and I were understandably concerned. Is there a chance we will be expelled? Written up somehow? Have a record? Would there be mugshots?
We wandered home, considerably less giggly, but little intermittent snorts of laughter at the whole shenanigans. But definitely much more serious.
I still remember the next day having to drag my sorry self, hangover and all, down to the campus security office. We had to apologize to security, sign some official looking paper, and promise never to steal campus property again.
In the sober light of day, the previous nights shenanigans — while still funny — were overshadowed by the reality of the situation.
I mean, we had STOLEN something. Like, I was now an honest-to-goodness felon.
Lucky for us, we were let off with a warning <sigh of relief> and our campus identity cards returned.
We couldn’t quite explain why we got off so lightly.
In retrospect, I’m guessing this story made for many the giggle in the security guard offices for quite a while afterwards. The night two drunken girls were stumbling home trying to wrangle a giant ‘Men at Work’ sign to use as an art-installment in their front yard.
What are the life-lessons and insights I took from this situation?
Not much, if I’m being honest. (Listen, no-one has ever accused me of being an Oracle of wisdom).
There’s little profound, life-lesson insight to be gained from drinking too much, laughing too hard, and having a funny story to tell. (Except perhaps that it’s important to do that once in a while — life is short and needs to be lived).
And, obviously, don’t drink to excess (at least not often). Or steal stuff.
But perhaps my most eye-opening, recent and quite unexpected insight of all: apparently, a love of Street-Sign-Art is an inherited trait. Who knew? 🤷🏼♀️
As always, I appreciate you reading my #tuesdaystale, and love to read your feedback and comments — feel free to share.
Originally published at https://www.tanyatinney.com on October 28, 2020.
