The traffic in town is atrocious, and despite the fact I left home well in advance for my appointment I am now risking to be late. In the distance I can see the traffic light going green, yellow, red, green again but nobody is moving. It is now 2.40pm, and my appointment is at 2.45pm, I have no idea where exactly this place is and neither where I can park. According to google map, the government building where I have to go is just around the corner, but with this traffic it might take me another twenty minutes to get there, unless I use the “lana bus”. I never use the “lana bus” to skip the traffic, partly because it is not fair and partly because I am sure that the one time I do it, the police sirens will be right behind me to publicly shame me.
It is now 2.45pm, I am still where I was 15 minutes ago,and the crossroad where I have to turn is just a few metres ahead of me.I clasp my sweaty hands around the steering wheel ,I deeply breath in and I swing onto the bus lane.I speed and I made it to the turn without sirens tailing me.
According to with miss google map I have just passed my destination, as she annoyingly keeps reminding me. According to her there should be a multistore parking also around here somewhere.I miss it and I had to take the first free spot on the street.What I haven’t realized is that I am in a street infamously known for the many pushers’ prolific I instruct the girls not to leave any items on display inside the car and to get out as quick as they can and start walking without making eye contact with anyone. When we arrive at the reception, the lady must have noticed that I had undoubtedly walked at a much faster pace than my fitness level could take. I am completely out of breath but after following her advice to slowly breathing in and out, I eventually manage to explain myself.
We only had to wait few minutes before being called to the very private cubicle 19 to talk to the operator in charge of my case.The operator is a middle age lady evidently feeling she could use her Friday afternoon in better ways than being there.I explain why I am there and even if quite surprised that I got married despite having already two daughters of that age,(who are obviously my husband’s as they are instead keeping their surname) she congratulates.Unfortunately I have to tell her I’m not there to take my husband’s name; her face drops and after throwing a sad look at the girls, she asks me whispering how they are taking the split.Sorry to have to disappoint her once again, I tell her that I am not there to give my husband surname away either.She is clearly confused: why in hell would you change your name if not for marriage or divorce? She look at me suspiciously and waits silent for an explanation. “I need to update my surname because I have been adopted”,I explain.She shakes her head and goes: “Seriously? At this stage in life?”. I know,what a frivolous reasons isn’t it?
Relieved my business with the social welfare is done, me and the girls treats ourself with some shopping,cakes and coffee before returning to the car and start our trip back home.
The light signaling that the boot is keeps flashing. I opened and reclosed the boot several times, but the light stays on. Hoping that it won’t open while on the road, leaving a trail of our belongings after us, I decide to ignore it and keep going.
The open boot light soon gets company:The fuel indicator! It goes red and the warning message of low fuel is everywhere start on my dashboard. That is a big surprise as ,for once, I had specifically checked the petrol level before we left, and it said I still had over 100 km before emptying the tank. I suppose there could only be two explanation: either the indicator was wrong earlier or it is wrong now. I check with miss google map where the closest petrol station is and there are none close by, and so I suppose fo I better believe that the signal is wrong now!Considering my past experiences and the fact I can’t precisely remember last time I made petrol, my belief doesn’t really set my nerves but not having other option, I ignore the fuel light and I keep driving pretending everything is fine.
Well,what can I say,following your guts is always the right decision. As soon we merged into the motorway and I pick up the speed,in fact,the fuel tank begins to pick up too.The level indicator starts to raise . Many cheerful numbers are replacing those ugly double flat red lines saying that I had no fuel left to empty the tank. 126Km,136Km, 145km, to finish with 149 km to empty the tank at the moment I park in front of my house. Mesmerised and excited I run inside to tell the travelling husband that my car is self-fuel filling. He,of course,demolished my enthusiasm with a perfectly rational explanation for the miraculous phenomenon I just experienced, but I know that the truth is that my car has superpowers: it just needs to be driven with the right attitude.