Today I got pickpocketed. In Mr Price (the dodgier, cheaper version of H&M). In Cresta Shopping Centre (just dodgy). Oh the humiliation of having your phone lifted in this environment. On the upside I got to do something I have always secretly wanted to do. When I realised my phone was gone I yelled out, ‘Attention Everyone, my phone has just disappeared. If you have it or have seen it, please return it to me.’
It didn’t help but it was sort of a strange rush to yell in public. Then to the Vodacom Cellular Shop where the man behind the counter looked at me like I was wearing a ballgown made of Crocs and said, “Can’t help you. The network is down’. So I did the inevitable and cried like a girl, snot bubbling out of my nose, make-up running down my face kind of crying. It did the trick. The manager rushed over and handed me a box of tissues which I held onto until I left the store an hour later. He made all the right sympathetic sounds and did all he could do with a network that was down. I couldn’t help but think about the meellions that Vodacom spends on advertising and there I was, a crying, snotty customer made happy by a box of Kleenex.
I lost many, many photos (including the ameezing Victorian house pics that I took on the weekend and couldn’t wait to share with you). But as the sweet security guard lady at Mr Price said, “It’s just a phone, not your life.” Too true.
I’m writing this sitting at the kitchen counter of my friends Jacqui and Ryan. The candles are lit, music is playing, pizzas are in the oven and our friends are arriving, wine and tennis biscuits and strawberries in hand. How can one be anything but grateful to end a day like this, like this? Ameezing.
ameezing 