I hate being late for work. I feel so guilty, unlike some of the people I’ve posted about previously. It’s like a mixed feeling of embarrassment and shame.
I know what it’s like waiting to be relieved as the clock ticks round to the hour.
When I was making my way home from work this week and the petrol light came on, I knew I had enough juice to get home but not enough to get back to work the next day.
Rather than get some before arriving home at some unearthly hour, which would have meant attending the next town to mine for the nearest 24-hour petrol station, I resolved to get some before work the next day.
Needless to say I completely forgot.
Normally, I leave in time to get there 15 to 10 minutes before my duty time, but today I took just a few minutes longer than I realised on Call of Duty, which meant I’d get on with just about 5 minutes leeway.
That would have been fine until I was halfway along the dual carriageway, having left my home town, and noticed with horror that the petrol gauge was pulsating red.
That’s when the gods of of shit and derision kicked in; the traffic lights at the next town with a petrol station were red on the dual carriageway exit, the traffic lights outside the petrol station were red, the petrol station was almost full with most pumps having a queue of one or two cars waiting, because the pumps were full, the kiosk was full so it took ages to pay. The traffic lights were red at the exit to the petrol station. The traffic lights were red on the entrance to the dual carriageway.
I got to work late.
At least I completed another level on Call of Duty.