A shitty thing happened to her and nobody helped. Is chivalry dead?

By LUCY ORMONDE

Please don’t judge me for what I’m about to tell you.

Over Christmas, my car ran out of petrol on the ramp of a shopping centre car park. The petrol light had been on for a few hours (or was it days?) and it was only when I started ascending the multi-level car park that I realised where I was heading. And it wasn’t the shops. It was hell.

On level three, the car started to struggle. Somewhere between level four and level five she carked it completely. No amount of pounding the accelerator was going to get that baby any further up the hill.

At this point I want to tell you there were approximately 99,000,000 cars banked up behind me, (in reality there were probably 12). Still, it was enough to have me f*cking terrified about how the next few minutes would play out.

I briefly considering bolting. Dumping the car and making a run for it.

I headed to the window of the car first in line. I explained the situation – I opted for the white lie of “broke down” over the mortifying truth of “ran out of petrol” – and when the driver of car number one started to reverse, the rest of the line reluctantly followed.

(There’s a point to this story beyond shame and embarrassment, I promise. Stay with me.)

Once I was at the bottom of the ramp, I call roadside assist. “Would you say you’re parked in a dangerous position?” Well, yes.

Eventually I started to cry.  Michael Buble is singing Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas on my radio and I am BAWLING my eyes out. You know that kind of crying where you struggle to breathe? That. I’m doing that.

Partly because I’m embarrassed. Partly because I have no one to call for help. Partly because all of this drama is eating into my shopping time. But mostly because in the 30 minutes that I’ve been sitting in my car at the bottom of the shopping centre ramp, not one person put down their window and asked if I was OK.

Not one.

A few people looked out their window. One couple slowed down to stare. But most people just drove their merry way up the ramp, consciously navigating around the hyperventilating girl in the Honda CRV.

Whoever said chivalry was alive and well must have been on crack.

And apparently I’m not the only one who thinks that way. A new study has found that acts of chivalry have become so very rare that women are suspicious of those who offer them.

The UK press reports:

Style gurus claim ‘standards have slipped’ in the way men conduct themselves so women are ‘suspicious’ of gestures once thought to be polite or kind.

A survey said 82 per cent of women preferred to pay for their dinner on a first date and 52 per cent claimed they would happily pay the entire bill.

Men who think women are lumbering heavy shopping bags around should think twice before running to their assistance, because 89 per cent would not accept an offer to help.

And the scene of a considerate lover throwing his coat over the shoulders of a wife or girlfriend seems to be just for Hollywood rom-coms only – a massive 78 per cent said they would not accept the gesture even on a cold day.

In the 30-something minutes I sat on that ramp crying, absolutely nobody stopped to help.

Knights in shining armour? I don’t think so. Although to be fair, at this point I should note that my own knight was at a bucks party and in absolutely no position to be chivalrous.

But this isn’t just about men. Because besides chivalry, what ever happened to common courtesy?

Back to the car story. I’m still crying. But things get better.

Two men in a ute stop. They get out of the car, put on high vis vests (I still don’t know why that was necessary) and offer to help me. Unfortunately, without a jerry can there’s nothing much that they can do. But their gesture is enough for me to want to invite them over for Christmas dinner and introduce them to my family.

And eventually my road-side assist buddy turns up. He’s reassuring. He has petrol. He fills my car with the magic liquid and assures me that everyone does this. He checks over the car for other problems. He tells me that his daughters would have done the same thing as me and not to feel bad. He gives me the number of a guy to call for a service.

He looks me in the eye and says “Don’t cry Love, it’s Christmas. Everything will be OK.”

And then I cry all over again.

So chivalry does exist. And you don’t need to be suspicious of it. But you do need a paid annual membership to activate it.

Do you believe chivalry exists? Would you allow someone to carry your bags if they offered? If a man opens the door for you do you question his motives?