What would your father do if you were kidnapped by Parisian sex traffickers?

[MitzyLeFrouf]

I'm watching Liam Neeson in Taken as he kicks, wallops and murders his way across Paris in pursuit of his abducted daughter? It's made me wonder what my father would do if such a situation arose.

He's an ex-accountant with a dodgy hip so I'm not sure he'd follow the Neeson method of daughter retrieval. He'd be more likely to start the rescue by putting the kettle on, having a cup of tea and checking the weather forecast in Paris. Then he'd have to phone the 67 relatives to inform them of my perilous situation. By the time he got off the phone to my Auntie Mary my virtue would be long lost.

What would your dear old dad do?

Dione WOW!!

Grantaire that is hilarious!!

Mine would sit by his computer, constantly hitting "refresh" for his email, in case I managed to fight my way to freedom and email to ask for money for the trip home.

He would say many decades of the Rosary (good Irish Catholic).

He'd keep an eye out for any useful advice pamphlets in the local library.

giant I found that one particularly hilarious too!

AllThatGlistens your family sounds like a bunch of doppelgangers for mine !

Hi everyone - we've received quite a few nominations for this thread to be moved into Classics, and we agree - it's fab

We'll pop it over there now.

What would your Dad do Becca?

My dad would eventually work out what had happened to me after I didn't check in on Facebook, then he'd call his Italian brothers and between them they'd corral a strike force to come and rescue me. It would involve big cars, poor navigational choices and lots and lots of arguing with occasional pauses where they all stopped to take handfuls of heart/liver/kidney/anxiety medication. One of my Italian cousins would be roped in to drive and would sit there looking resigned while the old men bickered in Arabic. Once in Paris, they would spend 6-12 hours choosing a suitable carpark and then have a nice meal before arguing over what to do next. I would probably have left the country and been set up as a sex slave somewhere in Morrocco by this point

DH would claim that he couldn't possibly leave the UK as the DC need looking after and that he'd just assumed my dad would sort it out

My dad would have gone to paris roamed around and found me minus the kicking and punching.

My Dh would search the internet repeatedly for clues. He can't get off his chair to find the fucking kettle

Just realised that if I was kidnapped by sex traffickers, before leaping into action DH would probably pause to check the calendar.

If my period was due, he'd simply put the kettle on and wait for a distraught phone call from the kidnappers, ringing from the room they'd barricaded themselves into for safety (while I clawed at the door, foaming at the mouth, screeching that they hadn't hung their coats up neatly and that they'd hadn't bothered to change the loo roll AGAIN)

A deal would be struck and the kidnappers would end the call thanking DH profusely and fighting back traumatised tears.

Sadly no father to launch the big rescue ... my brother would definitely put it on Facebook though.

Big sis has been trafficked. Gutted.

Cue lots of 'oh no' 'u alright Hun?' 'Hugs'

He'd probably text too. 'Wassup. You been trafficked then?'

Not so much of the actual rescuing part!

My dad would pick up the phone, and in response he would shout very loudly (as he always does on the phone). YOU CAN TELL HER SHE'S NOT GETTING A BLOODY LIFT HOME.

If a ransom was required my Dad would definitely have got the best exchange rate

Would he have paid with traveller's cheques?

My Dad would probably want interest free credit and product insurance in case I went wrong when he got me back home...

He would carefully save his place in the Guardian review columns and say 'we must do something' and then sit there while my mother packed their bags, booked a ferry , filled the car with petrol and made a packed lunch. While my father became engrossed in an exhibition at the Pompidiu centre my mother would spot the corner of my jumper, so familiar because she had knitted it herself, sticking out from the boot of a passing Citroen Diane. She would fling egg sandwiches from the Tupperware at the windscreen, causing them to crash, prize open the boot with something she found in the bottom of her handbag and we would both make a dash for the gift shop door in the Pompidou Centre. As we lay clutching each other in a grazed , panting heap, my mother scrubbing at the corners of my mouth with her spat on hanky, my father would come slowly into view, descending on the Pompiido Centre escalator and say 'you miss so much if you spend all afternoon in the Gift Shop! Blu'sMum, have you got one of those sandwiches left? ' and then we would all go to a little restaurant on the Left Bank to celebrate the marvelous exhibition at the Pompidou Centre. He would be very generous, treating us, and saying what a marvelous day out we had had and how the Catalogue is SO much better than at Tate Britain.

Hmmm. He'd probably stretch to a call to the authorities, provided Liverpool weren't playing at home.

The rescue mission would be left to mother to sort. It would most certainly involve a spreadsheet.

Turn in his grave, if he hadn't been cremated, I'd imagine.

Given that I saw my dad in his 70s charge into the street with my hockey stick at 1 in the morning because he thought a woman was being assaulted, I suspect that he's in the Liam Neeson school of thought. My dad is not tall, does not look at all frightening, but my god does he have a loud and terrifying yell and commanding presence. And his dds are the jewels in his crown.

My dad would immediately get on Amazon and order a book called 'What To Do When Your Daughter Gets Sex-Trafficked'. That done, he'd rant and rage loudly and unproductively for a bit, especially about what a pain it was I had to go and get kidnapped in Paris as he hates the French.

That said, he is very efficient and organised when he wants to be so I'd be expecting a rescue imminently on arrival of his book.

My dad would say that he knew this was about to happen, it was the "law of series". Then he would have a fit saying "Bon, Bon, Bon, bon" and he would complain he needed to get changed and have a shower, which really want planned. In Paris he would just get the police involved. Once rescued, he would have a go at me for being kidnapped then would complain about the fact that I was in Paris and didn't even tell him, that I never visited. I would then beg the kidnappers to take me back while he basked in the glory and patted himself on the back for being such a good dad. Doesn't have a clue. Waste of space

My poor dad, I really think I would feel worse about causing such anxiety to him than about the actual, you know, sexual slavery part.

Now if dd were kidnapped, exH would spring into action - to march to the police and explain how it's all my part due to my neglectful parenting. He'd go into much detail about how I once let her go out with a whole in her tights when she was 4, and how he told Social Services but nobody would listen to him, so this was the obvious consequence. By the time he'd itemised all my failures and go to the trafficking bit, the gang would long gone.

A hole in her tights. Not a whole (what?)

WyrdByrd haha I wonder if we're related?!

DH and I both have insanely huge families so anything's possible