© Bruce Goodman 29 July 2015
Brendan had to attend an important meeting. It was to be held in a rural area. The venue was an old stately homestead in the heart of large gardens and sprawling lawns. It had been converted into a “retreat” for business conferences. Brendan had to attend a meeting there every week. This time, however, Brendan’s friend from work, Peter, was also going.
The meeting was all day. Lunch was provided, as was morning and afternoon tea. The meeting finished around four o’clock. Brendan was in a hurry. He hated meetings. He wanted to get home.
He came outside. His car had gone. It had been stolen. He phoned the police. The police came. He gave them particulars.
Brendan asked Peter if he could hitch a ride. Peter obliged. It wasn’t as if there had been wine with the lunch, but Peter giggled all the way home. Brendan was furious. Having your car pinched was no giggling matter. Peter laughed even harder.
Anyway, Peter dropped Brendan off. No thanks, he wouldn’t come in; he wanted to get home himself.
And there, in the garage, was Brendan’s car! He’d forgotten. He’d gone to the meeting with Peter.