A tick for the statistical record

By JOE BENNETT

Some car insurance companies offer lower premiums to women. Insurance companies are not fools. They've looked at the stats and concluded that women drive more safely than men. So when I slid into the front seat of a small grey car in central Auckland last Friday, I was delighted to discover not only that my driver was a woman, but also that there were two more women in the back seat. This would be a very safe journey.

It was evening rush hour. As we pulled away from the kerb a discussion began on the route we should take. Had I been familiar with central Auckland I would have taken control and said authoritative masculine things like "turn right here". If I had done so, a joy would have been lost.

We were heading for a publisher's party and all three women were publishing editors. In other words, they were used to receiving an unsolicited manuscript, swiftly assessing it to be manure of such richness that it could grow prize marrows, and yet communicating this judgment to the author in such a way that no feelings were hurt.

In consequence the car was courtesy on wheels. The conversation was steeped in the virtues of collaboration, tolerance, respect for the views of others, and an intense delight in language and the world around us. It was how life would be if men didn't constantly shout.

Because these women would shrink from the arc-light of publicity, I shall call them Ms Driver, Ms Backseat One and Ms Backseat Two. The conversation ran more or less as follows:

Ms Driver: Does anyone know how to get there?

Ms Backseat One: Well, we could take the motorway, unless someone has a better idea.

Ms Backseat Two: I think the motorway's a good idea. Oh look at that, Tonis Hair Salon. Sometimes I want to go out in the middle of the night and paint in all the missing apostrophes. Honestly, how much would it cost them to get it right? It's not as though it's hard.

Ms Backseat One: There ought to be an apostrophe paint.

Ms Backseat Two: They could call it Pedants' Emulsion.

Ms Backseat One: Yes, Pedants' Emulsion. Very good. With a giant apostrophe on the can. Er, do you think perhaps we should get into the left-hand lane? If we're going via the motorway, that is.

Ms Driver: Left-hand lane? Is that Joe's side or my side?

Ms Backseat Two: Joe's side. Go Joe's side now.

Ms Driver: Sorry Joe, I'm hopeless on left and right. Shall I go Joe's side now?

Going Joe's side now was not a cracking idea. In preparation for changing lane we had slowed rather a lot. Traffic behind us was banking up nicely. Traffic to either side of us was whizzing past. I said nothing. I was concentrating on my right foot, which was pressing an accelerator it hadn't got.

We managed to go Joe's side only because a Mercedes braked. It had little choice.

Ms Driver: Aren't some road signs ridiculous? I mean, look at that one. "Be Prepared to Stop." What exactly is one supposed to do?

Ms Backseat Two: It's the same with, "Warning: low-flying aircraft."

Ms Backseat One: And "Always Turn Left with Caution"? Don't you think it gains significance in an election year?

Ms Driver: I was given this dreadful book the other day called The Story of the Failed Conquest of Somewhere or Other. What on earth was the editor up to? Couldn't they see it was an oxymoron? I mean, if the conquest failed it wasn't a conquest.

Ms Backseat One: Do you think we should turn off down Gillies Ave? Talking of oxymorons, what about, "Grey Power"?

Ms Driver: Or "The Honourable Winston Peters"?

Ms Backseat One: Oh very good. Er, if we are going to take Gillies Ave it may be a good idea to get into the left lane soonish.

Ms Driver: Left?

Ms Backseat One: Yes, Joe's side again. Er, but perhaps not right now. There, go Joe's side now.

Ms Backseat Two: Oh well done.

Ms Driver: You're very quiet, Joe.

She was right. I was quiet. I could sense that I was also a little pale.

Ms Backseat Two: (gesturing at a building): Isn't that it?

Ms Driver: Isn't what what? Gosh, what a strange sentence.

Ms Backseat Two: Isn't that building the one we're looking for?

Ms Driver: What building? I can't see a thing in these glasses.

At which point everyone in this happiest and most cooperative of cars fell about laughing. And we arrived safely. And the insurance companies put another tick in their incontrovertible statistical record.

- © Fairfax NZ News