Kritiek Aster — ‘Welcome to Tshwane’
The TMPD man was beside himself as I tried to explain.
Olivetti 45 — We’ve all had those incredulous experiences that leave us in absolute awe of how bizarre life can be. I had mine in Pretoria recently.
I took a friend and her colleague (and his girlfriend, who knows why) to Pretoria the other weekend so that they could save face for their boss. They were to attend a final meeting before a sports tournament and he said he couldn’t make it at the last possible minute. Having not had transport, she turned to me, offering to reimburse me for my petrol usage.
Why the heck not, right? I’ve always felt intrigued by Pretoria and how (to me) it seemed in a much better condition than Johannesburg.
Buitendien, I told her, there’s this lovely place on Duncan Street that sells delicious red velvet cupcakes. Hatfield Square was on top of the list, of course, since the whole gang’s never been. Off we drove. Sit down for a drink, discuss some office politics and sports (yawn). We spotted a Burger King right next to the Square, and decided it would be our next stop. But only after the meeting.
They returned. Burger King, here we come! I set my Afrikaans GPS, affectionately named Karolus, to the Square’s address and we drove back. About a kilometre before Burger King we discussed all the blue lights in front of us. It seems an accident occurred.
“Draai regs,” said Karolus, and I did without blinking an eye. He’s never had me lost, but alas – we’re driving up a one-way street!
“Verdomp!“, and I turn into the first road I can, left. Phew, not a one-way. However the blue lights followed me, and the TMPD man was beside himself.
“Ma’am, are you sober?!”
“How can you be driving like that?”
“Listen, I…”
“Do you have a valid drivers licence?!” het hy gebulder, snatching my licence from my hand as I take it out. I’m trying to tell him that Karolus was confused and that I corrected my mistake upon realising it. My friends were flabbergasted.
“Listen, officer, I’m not from the area and my GPS indicated that I could turn. I didn’t realise …”
“Well, your GPS is wrong,” he scoffs, clearly not believing me.
“What are you going to write me up for? Following a GPS?,” I replied, desperate to be understood. I tried not to show my annoyance as I watched him spell my name, my address and about everything else wrong. ‘Rodeport’ is not a Pretoria suburb, I’m clearly not lying about what had happened.
“You cannot be following your GPS like that here. This is no longer that Pretoria.
“Welcome to Tshwane,” he said as he had me sign the R250 fine notice.
Ek het maar hard gesluk aan daardie sjiekên Burger King.
