Or right. Whatever you do, just get off the damn stage. Quickly. Unfortunately, I had one of those moments when I didn't exit from the stage quick enough and found myself covered in old eggs and rotten tomatoes thrown by a hysterically laughing audience at my feet.
A few days ago I had a conversation with my mother about our worst fear in the world, a fear we both share. No, it not technically a phobia of sorts, though I guess if it had to have one of those ridiculously long names just to fit in with all the other phobias and so they don't take the piss out of it, then it would have to be Lackofmoneytopayforhugeamountofpetrolaphobia. In English (or, with the spaces put back in) a fear of not being able to pay for your petrol after filling up. Sweet Jesus, just the thought of it made us wince. We couldn't work out what you would do - it's not like you could go and get some money on your own, as surely you would bugger off never to return. So what? Get someone to come and bring you money? Hope some passing millionaire feels pity for your pathetic situation? Fortunately for us, I learned today exactly what happens. Holy Hell.
Yup. Picture the scene: I've had a looooooong hard day at work, done extra hours and am heading home. Unfortunately, the amount of petrol left in my petrol tank means that, if I don't fill up before setting off for home I'll find myself half way there, at the side of the road looking like a total knob, weeping in to my work shirt and hitting my head on the horn repeatedly. Hard. Sooooo... Petrol time!! Easing the petrol pump from its holder and gently sliding it in to the hole leading to my petrol tank I apply slight pressure to the handle to get the juices flowing (Yes, I cannot even put petrol in my car without making it sexual.) £35 in later and I head for the tills, a massive queue forming behind me and myself resisting all urges to call out about being in a Michael Mcintyre sketch. Smugly, being in the queue before it got too big, I thrust my card in to the machine with gusto and swiftly tap in my PIN and flash a quick grin to the people behind me. "I'm sorry, young lady, but your card has been declined." "Oh. OK then... Could we try it again? I've been having some trouble with my card lately" (Woe is me for risking it.) Gingerly I put my card back in, heart thudding so loud I could hear it over the general groans and tuttings coming from behind me. Nope, card declined again. I resisted the urge to throw my wallet at the cashier's head and turn and plough through the queue behind me in an attempt to escape but naturally, I had instantly become trapped there.
Instead, I found myself on the phone to my mother, asking for her card details to 'break the usual rules and pay over the phone' and hearing her scream of abject terror when I told her she had to spend £35 on petrol that wasn't even in her own car. Finally, I was free. I ended the phone call to my mum with "I'm racing home to sob in to your arms, now." turned to the cashier and lightly said "Well, that was my worst nightmare. At least now I've experienced it once I won't have to again. Like chicken pox. Toodles!" and all but ran from the till, knocking over shelving units with gay abandon as I went (ok, I made that bit up). So what happens when you can't pay for petrol? You all but die of embarassment and have to have money sent to you somehow. They should have a pen of shame in the corner for you to stand in while you wait, where people can freely mock you and show you how smug they are that they have money and aren't a penniless git.
On a brighter note, I got home to find a wack wack sitting in the garden. Yes, I am the proud owner of a frigging DUCK!!!!!!!!!!! XD My mum had gone out and got her for me to cheer me up. My mum is awesome.
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