Many of you know that The Artist is meshuggah with cars. Even rentals. Pulling into Cape Town International a few days back we were to discover that despite the fact that we’d booked and paid for a specific car over nine months ago, it was not to be. I want to point out that we were not screaming blue murder like the older Afrikaans man (note I did not say gentleman) and his wife. He was aggressively articulating about the lack of leadership resulting in problems with people and their cars because the manager was not onsite. It was incredibly funny to watch and listen to. When we knew that there was sweet fuck all to be done about it.
An hour and a half later saw us cramming luggage from an international flight for an international vacation into a car with the boot the size of an ant’s balls in an attempt to get us all to our hotel. And it was a manual car. Manual I ask you – in this day and age.
Fast forward to New Year’s Eve and many irate phone calls later, The Artist received a very unexpected surprise that they were exchanging the car for a Honda automatic. I, in the interim had lost my most prized Prada sunnies and was frantically trawling the Sea Point Main Road for a cheap replacement with my bestie Brad. I bought ski goggle types. Such was I traumatised. Bad. Very very bad…
We arrived back at the hotel to find The Artist and the rental company guy loading our beach stuff into the new car. Brad, who is all about the detail, pointed out that the car was not a Honda, nor an automatic. It was a Toyota, manual, seven seater. However, as it was significantly larger, The Artist was taking it, no matter what. He was checking out the tyres and their rims and commenting on every inch of the vehicle and making sure there were no dings on the body, making the guy walk around the car with him, commenting on additional this and that, feeling the seats, The Artist was now taking the keys from our guy and the kids and I were getting into the back, ready to go.
Brad was not convinced and kept saying I don’t think this is your car. The Artist was standing firm and said that Miss11 had seen a guy looking at them while they were waiting in reception and The Artist had made eye contact, asked him if he was from Europcar and he had indeed confirmed he was. Still not buying it. As the boot was about to close, I asked the guy if he was from Europcar to exchange the car. No, apparently not. He was there to take some other people on a day trip. So when The Artist asked whether he was from Europcar – he thought he said, are you our car?
I asked him what he was going to do when The Artist took his keys and proceeded to drive off. He said, he was about to call his boss and ask “wat die fok gaan hier aan? (translation: what the fuck exactly is going on here?)
This is the guy who almost had his car stolen….
So no, it was not our car. The guy with our car was now waiting in reception wondering “waar die fok” we were. He was driving the Honda automatic.
You had to wonder what the poor bastard thought with all the hand shaking, car checking and questions he was being asked regarding the car when all he was doing was taking some people on a day trip.
Good natured, is all I’m saying.
Brad and I laughed the entire day. The Entire Day. The Artist laughed too. Because that’s how the three of us roll.
Love and light.