Monday, July 26, 2010

Life Lessons from Escape Town: Part Une

Last Monday I decided to be impulsive. I miss being impulsive. Last year was all about that: last-minute abandonment of all that is rational; a crazy night; waking up somewhere you have never been before and spending the next day facepalming yourself while sitting in too-bright sunlight still stinking of whatever madness had gone down the night before. But now, what with having a job and all that, things have calmed down a lot. But after working myself half to death during the FIFA World Cup, and with honours about to get pretty hectic [rumour has it there is a thesis deadline looming], I decided now was the perfect time to Cape Town. So I did. And it was awesome, but in the most unexpected ways...
I am not going to go into details of my exact itinerary. It was the usual- I saw everyone, I went everywhere, I did everything I loved to do. But I simply have to share an amazing story with everyone: The Story of the Departed Driver’s Licence.

There is only one break-up I have ever taken really badly, and that was when The Nazi very unexpectedly dumped me. I smashed a vase in my house [hard enough to chip the concrete wall], lay on the ground [in a ball gown, as this happened straight after a big event] and cried my make-up onto the floor. The next day I walked halfway to campus to hand in an essay, barefoot and puffy-eyed, with black streaks of eyelines down to my collar bones [still in said ball gown], before realising I was probably attracting more attention than I wanted to. I also disappeared for a few days, and when I returned I spent many a night drunk-dialing the poor guy, blaming him for everything that was wrong in my life. So, fairly soon after this break up I went on a bit of a drinking spree. Alone [obviously, otherwise it simply is not tragic enough], and strategically having just one or two drinks at each place. And when I say ‘each place’, I mean pretty much every liquor-selling venue in Stellenbosch. Needless to say when I landed up in Bohemia [ten hours later], I was fairly tipsy. And, of course, I called The Nazi. We talked, I got angry and stormed out, only to realise that my wallet was decidedly gone. I went back into Bohemia [where I had definitely last had it], but no luck.

The next day I went through the usual post-theft admin of affidavits, running around, filling out forms and spending unnecessary money until, a few hours later, I had a new driver’s licence, bank card, student card and wallet.
Back to present day: on Saturday we went to Bohemia. As I am ordering my drink at Bar B, Unknown Barman points to me and says, “Lize?”
Me: “Yes. Why?” [Not too worried, he doesn’t look like the rugby type but maybe he watched Varsity Cup.]
Unknown Barman: “I recognise you from class.”
Me: “Oh.” [In head: creep.]
Unknown Barman: “Your driver’s licence is behind the other bar.”
Me: “Erm... No, it isn’t.” [I know this because I have not had to remove my licence yet as this is one of the few nights where I have not been asked for ID, thus licence is still safe in wallet.]
Unknown Barman: “Yes, it is. Except you had black hair.”
Me: [Pull out my wallet and show him my driver’s licence, accompanied by ‘whatever, dude’ look on face.]
Unknown Barman: “Okay. Well, anyway...” [Conversation trails off into ordering of alcohol.]
So, I decide to ask at Bar A anyway. And there it is. Two years later, my driver’s licence has found its way back to my second home, waiting for me!
Okay, I am quite sure that this story excites you less than it did me, and that you did not just buy a round for a group of strangers. But it was just one of those moments where the universe really comes to the party [albeit fashionably VERY late] and makes you go ‘Aaaaw! You are not just a screwed-up bitch, Life.’
That is my first story. There are a few more Cape Town chapters to be written, on friends, exes and other invaluable life lessons. Stay tuned.

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