Every now and then we are privileged to be witness of an act of such comic improbability that we are compelled to share it immediately.
Last night was involved just such an incident.
It's been a while since I was last out on the town with the boys, so I had been looking forward to Saturday for a while. A footy game, several bars and some highly inadvisable dancing later (I will never learn my lesson about that. In fact I flatly refuse to) we piled into a cab and headed home.
Now me and the boys all live about an hour out from the city from a place called Ringwood. Ringwood could be described a number of ways. 'Culturally diverse melting-pot' is one, provided you consider 'bogan', 'confused pensioner' and 'mothers wear matching clothes to their children' to be cultures.
A true description of the place is difficult and would involve far more startling metaphors than even I'm prepared to condone - let's just say it get significantly better the further you are away from the train station. Exponentially so.
Anyway, we're flying along in the taxi talking the special brand of crap that you only ever talk when you're starting to sober up a the end of a night, when the taxi starts to slow down. We're still on the freeway a fair distance from home, so I find this rather odd.
Then the taxi stops.
A number of horrific scenarios flash through my brain at this point. The reality however was far more bizarre.
The cab has run out of fuel.
Now if you had have run this scenario past me before Saturday night, sure, I would have said it was possible. The same way it's possible to take out a pigeon in midflight while playing tennis - it could happen but NEVER EVER WILL. (That video is not funny by the way. Shame on you.)
Strangely enough I actually felt sorry for the taxi driver. Sure, it was obviously his fault for not noticing the flashing red light for the last 30 minutes, but of all the ways to spend a night, stuck in an enclosed space with three somewhat drunk and increasingly cranky Ringwood boys is not up there on my list.
And I'm pretty sure we weren't helping the situation with the laughing. Or the sudden urge to tell each other our worst taxi stories.
By far the winner of this contest was Chippa. Apparently he'd had the driver nearly fall asleep at the wheel one night. When Chippa pointed this out at a fairly high pitch, the driver actually asked him "Would you mind driving for a while?".
After 15 minutes of the driver trying to get the taxi started again (presumably with the awesome power of his desire not to be in the same car as us) we gave up and started walking. I tried flagging down a lift a few times but got nothing except a couple of honks - apparently when a guy stands on the side of the road at 4am waving frantically what he really needs is to be honked at. I have reconfirmed my commitment to always pick up hitch-hikers from now on.
More news to come soon, hopefully of a less dramatic nature. In the meantime, another thought for the start of the week:
We've all had experiences like the one above, to bigger or lesser degrees. Frankly, shit happens.
Inconvenience, pain and conflict are facts of life - they happen and often there's no way of reasonably preventing or predicting them.
Suffering on the other hand, is a measurement of how badly that pain effects you. This is variable.
There are stories of prisoners taking 200 lashings without ever making a sound. Conversely, someone dents their car and the become inconsolable for a month.
When you find yourself in a situation like the one above you have two choices.
1) Get angry/upset/indignant. This is always going to end up with you suffering, regardless of the actual outcome. These reactions are by definition suffering, in and of themselves.
2) Smile. Because worrying doesn't solve a damn thing. And besides, if I can maintain my happiness, then who gives a damn about the practical outcomes? Isn't the whole point of those practicalities to make you happy in the first place?
Something to ponder.
What cheer!
Gordon
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