The petrol price is dropping tomorrow. Yay. This is pertinent to my story.
Summer league started yesterday. So at 5pm I dragged myself away from watching Days (no acting required, just excessive eyebrow movement - quality) and piled into my car to head to Randburg astro.
The reason why I mention the petrol price is because I have to make my car last until tomorrow, and the fuel light has been silently screaming at me since Sunday (or is it since Saturday?) Anyway, short story: the petrol has to last.
So, half an hour later I’ve fought my way (surprisingly calmly, by my standards) through the traffic to Randburg. That’s when I realised I was in the wrong place.
Without use of a schematic diagram, I’m going to try to demonstrate what I had done.
I live here. I was supposed to be play at Wanderers. Here. But, I got in my car and voluntarily wasted petrol to get to Randburg astro… ……
…… all the way over there.
Quick phonecall to the captain.
Me: “I’m such a fucking idiot. You’ll never guess what I’ve done.”
Her: “You went to Randburg.”
Me: “Okay, you guessed. I’m such a tithead. I’m coming now.”
I couldn’t even do some low-flying to get back because I’m trying to conserve petrol. Wooosah. Even then, I was (still) surprisingly calm when the driver in front of me felt the need to stop, check, roll, stop, check at every four-way stop through the suburbs. No, no… really. Take your time. Make absolutely certain. It’s not your fault that I’m a fekking imbecile and now late for my hockey match. I even remained perfectly calm when the family walking at least 13 dogs decided to cross the road directly in front of me. Serenity is me.
I made it to the hockey match, which we lost. Now my petrol… must… just…. last… until… tomorrow…