As pointed out by a friend this weekend – I have THE worst car luck ever.
And that’s in no way an exaggeration.
We know of the drama I had with my car late last year that resulted in the engine being overhauled and the radiator needing to be replaced etc. But it really starts long before that with my very first car – it was a 30 year old golf so you can imagine how that poor thing was constantly falling apart, but it did it’s job.
Back to the luck factor… after a fantastically exhausting day stomping and sipping wine at Beau Joubert I stopped at a garage in Somerset West to put some DIESEL in. So I asked the attendant for DIESEL and the top that screws off has a DIESEL sticker on it yet somehow, 14 litres in to topping up my tank we hear an “oh shit”. Well “oh shit” is NEVER a good thing to hear. Never ever. Not if your kid is saying it, not if you’re saying it and particularly not when the attendant who is supposed to be doing nothing but popping a pipe into your tank and filling it up with what you ask saying it.
Have you guessed yet what happened?
Yeah well… draining out an entire fuel tank, letting as much as possible evaporate after than and then praying to the stars above that nothing went into your fuel lines because there is no mechanic available at 3pm on a saturday in Somerset West is a really really long process in case you were wondering.
Paranoia become reality. Not fun.
The guys there should be extremely thankful that A] the person was there and B] I was extremely tired and thus very placid and quietly pissed off because otherwise I’d be writing this from a prison cell.