Who's on First?

During Operation Beachhead, we of course had a rental car. And since most nights were spent having a few pints, we typically left the car on the side of the road overnight and took cabs or walked.

One morning we arrived to find our car had been booted, or as they say here, "clamped." They do not mess around with tickets and amnesty. If you park where you shouldn't, or over your limit, the clamp you. Eighty euro to get released. We had apparently parked where we should have fed a meter, but in our defense I should point out the system here is far different than at home. Here, there is one machine, not even a meter, per area. You need to look around and see if there is a machine, and if there is, pay into it, get a receipt (or "disk") and put it on your dashboard to avoid a clamp.

Well, we didn't see the machine. Needless to say this put us in a cranky mood. But we headed to he pub next door to call the parking division and also, to find out what street we were on. The ticket on the window gave us the number to call.

Once inside the reasonably crowded bar (it was 11am on a Monday, mind you), I approached the bartender.

"We've just gotten a 'clamp' out front here. I'm going to call them, but can you tell me what street I should tell them?"

"What quay?" The bartender said. Now, "quay," pronounced "key" is a name of a wharf or pier-like street.


Thinking I'm doing pretty good knowing 'clamp' and 'quay,' I said, pointing, "the one right out front here."

"What key?" The bartender repeated.

"I don't know, that's what I'm asking you for."

"No," he said, putting both palms down on the bar and speaking slowly, "Wood. Quay."