At 7pm last night I found myself wandering around the Waterloo (where the hell am I) Station. My train failed to stop at the Petone station, where Mum was waiting to pick me up, so I jumped off at the next stop, and proceeded to freak the hell out.
The guy sitting next to me on the train laughed when he heard me explaining the mistake to Mum on the phone, and as I was leaving he waved me off with a cheery “Good luck!” as if to say “you’ll need it!”
And so I found myself in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. There were no shops, no recognisable landmarks, and no easily read maps.
At a time like that, in a deserted place like that, you start to ask yourself a few questions. For example:
- Where the hell is Waterloo, am I still even in Wellington?
- Why didn’t the train stop at Petone?
- Why does this map have no street names?
- Does my Mum know where Waterloo is?
- Why do I continue to use public transport late at night in strange suburbs? It always ends in disaster.
- Public transport in general ends in disaster for me. Why is that?
- Where are all the people?
- Was that an axe-murderer?
- Was that a rapist?
- Or a monster of some sort?
- Perhaps a ghost?
- How was it again that you’re supposed to get out of a bear hug from an insane ghost vampire homeless man carrying an axe?
- Will my flatmates even realise that I didn’t come home tonight?
- Or tomorrow night?
- Will they think I’m just late at the gym?
- Why am I allowed out in public on my own?
When I set out from work at 5.30pm I really did think I’d be in Petone by 6pm. So did Mum. Instead I was in Waterloo (Seriously WHERE THE HELL IS WATERLOO ANYWAY) station hoping against all hope that my cellphone still had money on it – because generally in these public-transport-gone-awry situations I don’t have any money, and my phone battery is inching closer and closer to death.
The most help I could offer Mum in finding me, was to cross a river, and follow either a 86, 85, or 84 bus to the bus exchange. She hung up on me and instead called someone who could actually help.
By that time I’d found myself a lovely lady who took me by the arm and lead me to the map and explained my location like she thought I was particularly deficient in the brain department. Then she pointed out the street that my Mum needed to look for, before patting me on the arm and toddling back to her bus stop. I couldn’t thank her enough.
Evidently I need to carry a small lady who can read maps and has knowledge of the Wellington public transit system in my handbag.
Mum found me eventually, and we drove back to her place. She’s got quite a cute little flat, with a view over the whole harbour, it’s all quite pretty lit up at night. We had dinner and desert, and a glass of wine together before she dropped me back home – evidently she didn’t trust me to be able to negotiate the bus system back to Miramar.
So there you have it. I am a total dork when it comes to public transport.