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sad woman

What a blue Monday. I haven’t had one of these in a while; but today was a truly frustratingly maddening day.

It started with the news that Gareth Cliff is leaving 5fm, with this morning being his last show on the station. I burst into tears with distress. And please don’t tell me to get a life cos he’s just a radio DJ and I don’t know him.  I’ve spent every week day morning with him for seven years! That’s longer than any of my previous relationships, so of course I fucking know him!

We may not agree on everything, and there have been times I’ve sworn at him for his arrogant ways and I’ve even thrown a pillow at him on occasion when I find him too obnoxious.
But he and Nescafe are the only things that get me going in the mornings; and quite frankly, without him, I don’t know what I’m going to do.

And the worst part of his leaving is the notice. There was none! I have issues people, you can’t expect to just disappear out of my life with a mere 3 hour warning and expect me not to have a panic attack.

I can’t stand Wackhead Simpson on 94.7 – his voice is worse than nails on a chalkboard – so Highveld isn’t an option to aid me in the mornings.

I guess I’m going to have to increase my coffee intake. Thank the goddesses I bought a plunger and several bags of House of Coffee ground beans a few weeks ago, it’s as though They knew to prepare me.

So that’s how my day started, losing one of the loves of my life. *sob* I’m still heartbroken – it will take a while to get over my loss.

The day ended with more loss. Financial this time. Almost R6,000. Goodbye tattoo money, goodbye savings, goodbye any semblance of entertainment in April.

I wasn’t robbed. Well, whilst I do call it daylight robbery, I did part with my money willingly, albeit extremely begrudgingly.

The Feisty Fiesta went for a service today. Her first ever. Had I just taken her annually whilst I still had a service plan, I wouldn’t be facing imminent bankruptcy; however due to a severe bout of procrastination lasting, oh about 3,5 years; FF just never had an oil change let alone any other fine-tuning.

I know, I know. I don’t need a lecture.

It was only since experiencing high-pitched squealing breaks recently, that I decided to do anything about it.  Poor baby was in a bad state and a general service was not enough. It seems anything not welded onto her body needed replacing and so the damage to my bank account was more than I had budgeted for.

I knew I had enough money in my account though because I’ve been saving; so I had the tattoo moola and a bit more for my debit orders to go off … Tomorrow. (My first Garethless day. *sob*)

I wasn’t interested in going through each line item on the several paged account; it was too depressing. So I told the robber, I mean service consultant to just take my card and swipe it, so that I could get out of there ASAP.  They had already put me in a dark place late this morning with their quote on the damage to my pocket; so I considering what I’d already been through today, I didn’t want to prolong the pain.

I had a Zumba class scheduled at 6pm, and after the day I’d already had; getting my dance on with a set of heavy weights was much needed … Although it was only 16h45, because all the traffic lights were out due to “cable problems” officials quoted about the loadshedding in the area; I didn’t want to get stuck in unnecessary traffic on my way home.

So I handed over the bank card that had actually been stolen from me nine days ago.

Insert card
Enter amount
Punch in pin



Try again.

Insert card
Enter amount
Punch in pin


Oh for fuck sakes!

By now there was a queue of men behind me, waiting to pay for the services to their own vehicles and as the room is hardly a banqueting hall, they were all aware of my predicament.

Third times a charm, I thought to myself, whilst loudly yet causally assuring the consultant and voyeurs that I had plenty of money in my bank account so it must be the machine. I mean look at me; I’ve got a (replica) Louis Vuitton purse inside (genuine) Guess bag,

Insert card
Enter amount
Punch in pin



Holding thumbs

Swearing under my breath

You guessed it.


Ok, so now what am I supposed to do? I asked of the man slowly losing his patience behind the counter as it’s now past his knock off time and the queue behind me is still increasing.

Don’t you have another card?

No. I only have ONE card for this account. Why would I have two??

I meant, don’t you have a card for another account.

Nooo. I have ONE card for the ONE account. I do not have other cards. And. I. Do. Not. Have. Other. Accounts. This. Is. It.

I stated, waving my ABSA debit card in his face; showing off my exceptionally long French-manicured nails.

We stared at each other for a minute or so, unsure of who’s move it was next.

I played pawn.

Can’t you phone the bank and find out why the machine is declining my card.

The bank is closed, he reminded me; waving in the direction of a large analogue clock on the wall, further indicating it also after closing time for the service department.

So now what? I almost cried. Thinking, can this day get any worse. (Don’t ever ask yourself that, because inevitably …)

Can you do an EFT? Asked Mister Desperate-To-Get-Home.

Yes! Yes I can! I shouted with joy, looking around for an ATM. In a car service centre. I know, I’m blonde remember.
Er, so um, where can I do the transfer?

Come around here, you can use my computer.

And now I know why they charge so much for bloody brake lights! Their PC’s are practically on the blink.

It took an age to log onto the bank’s secure website and type in all my personal information including the particulars of my DNA strands.

Finally I was in! I loaded Ford as a once-off beneficiary; filled in all the relevant fields – including sending the consultant an immediate email to confirm payment.


With the perspiration of relief running across my forehead, I logged out; not before throwing up a bit in my mouth at my available balance; and I made my way back to the customer side of the counter; smirking at all the male queuees as if to say; see, I told you I had money.

And then we waited for the email confirming I had parted with my hard earned and allocated to my 10th tattoo money.

And we waited.

He refeshed Outlook.

And we waited.

He looked at me.

I looked away.

He refreshed Outlook.

By now I was close to tears, with the water welling up in my eyes and threatening to erupt with the weakening of my confidence.

Why is this happening to me???

Ms Harmony. Maybe you can come around again, log in and print out a copy of the transaction.


Around I went; avoiding all eye contact with the seated and now curious customers. I gave my pound of flesh; located the transaction and clicked on print.


Er, where is your printer?

Behind you.

Nothing’s printing.

Try again.

Click print.

Click print.

Click print.

Click print.

A tear falls.

Maybe you’re printing to the wrong printer, he chirps me.


Ja but there’s supposed to be another screen that pops up and you select the printer.

I know that, and you seem know that. But between ABSA and your computer; one of them are not aware of that fact! Can you see, I’m hitting print. There, I’m hitting it again. And again. There is no pop-up there are no printers. Print, click. Nothing.

More tears.

Once I had recovered sufficient composure, I downloaded a statement onto his dysfunctional PC and he printed it off. On the printer. Behind me.

So he’s got all my banking and monthly payment details. Frankly, I don’t give a damn. He had the proof of payment and within seconds I had my car keys. And with a final walk of shame through a parting sea of men, I was finally reunited with my very happy, smooth, rejuvenated Feisty Fiesta.

But things always happen in threes, don’t they.

You’ve heard how my day started and how it ended; but you’d yet to hear the punch in the middle.

Coming soon, to a pity party near you.