Another epic journey - or where the hell is my credit card?

I've just arrived in Sydney.  By "just arrived" I mean I walked into my hotel room about an hour ago.  I arrived in Sydney two and a half hours earlier having left Melbourne 90 minutes before that. You see I had to hire a car and drive way out west.  In the dark.  It nearly was too - I couldn't find the headlights.  Every time I thought I had them the windscreen wipers would start or the boot would fly open.  Luckily I discovered these things before I pulled out of the (very snug) car space. I needed the navigation system just to find my way out of the car space.  It doesn't work without a "clear view of the sky", which is very hard to have when you're on the ground floor of a multi-storey carpark.  I trusted my instincts and followed the arrows.

I drove and drove and drove and drove and arrived at my hotel.  I went to provide my credit card for the customary credit card imprint and it wasn't in my wallet.  Clearly the trainee who did all the paperwork for the hire car still had it.  I gave it to him so that I was covered for tolls.  Surprisingly the woman who checked me in at the hotel offered to call the hire car company.  I let her.  We could find no one to answer the phone and resorted to calling the accident hotline.  I figured I could claim a lost credit card was an accident.  Luckily I wasn't bleeding by the side of the road, because we would probably be on hold until sometime next week.  The most worrying thing was they had my phone number and I had left them 90 minutes earlier and they hadn't called to say they had my credit card.  I called the bank.  It gave me something to do while I waited for room service and figured out how to fill the kettle.

© divacultura 2013

The bank was excellent.  They put a temporary stop on the card until I could speak to the car people tomorrow and see if they did have my card.  I started to worry that in a moment of ennui I had left the card in the car or in my handbag.  I checked both.  I hadn't.

Room service arrived surprisingly swiftly.  The waitress asked me how my day had been.  I told her.  She asked if she could get me anything else: a cup of tea? a martini? a cuddle?  She looked like she meant it.  If she had been six feet tall, laughing eyes, nicely muscled and a bloke - or George Clooney -  I would have accepted.

No sooner had I ripped the skin off my barramundi than my phone rang.  It was Terrence from the hire car company and he had my credit card.  He was very apologetic.  At least I know where it is and won't be worrying all night.  I don't have time.  I have to figure out a way to fill the kettle so I can make a cup of tea.  Should have taken up that offer.

© divacultura 2013