Fuck this shit.
It’s been six years since I have been in communicado through the means of cellular integration. Yet, the curse of 2006 strikes again, by eradicating or transferring this wireless phonetic connection into the hands of a dirty, disgusting thief.
My cell phone was stolen at the bowling club on Friday evening.
That’s two cell phones zyphed in the space of three months.
I was so royally fucked off, I dragged Small Bum along to Manhattan’s, the new overly-rated club in Rivonia, and stole myself a new cell phone. Well that was my intention anyway, until Smalls talked me out of it. The way I see it, I cannot afford to buy a new one, and every other thief in this country seems to get away with swiping them willy-nilly, so I’ll be fucked if I have to keep on buying one.
Couldn’t find any of my mates in the swirling cramped mass that is this new club, after having to queue. (Who queues? Queue For Robbie Williams by all means, queue for fresh bread at Fournos, but for a club that has zero atmosphere, and I can’t see my own feet because it is so full? No. Never again.) I couldn’t phone any of them. I couldn’t find them. The night was spent looking for people. Irritating on so many levels.
My social life dropped as a result of some godforsaken idiot that swiped my phone off a table at Zoo Lake. I hate that person.
And MTN isn't helping me reconnect either. I need three months bank statements in order to get a new phone. I cannot print out my statements from my Internet banking, they're not good enough. I need to actually step into a branch and have them printed out for me.
When do I have the time to fanny about like this?
I'm losing my cool. Fast.