Decay on the Great Ocean Road

The day starts well. I have a rideshare along the Great Ocean Road. Two Frenchmen, one Irishwoman, all good people. We drive into town, get the hire car, drive off. The panic begins. Our French driver is the worst driver I’ve ever seen. My grandma drove much better and safer at 73. The start: the hire company shows him how to start.

The highlights until the evening: Several extremely tight right-of-way regulations. Almost turning into a one-way street – only for trams. Constant jerky, unannounced braking. Dozens of following drivers get upset. An almost rear-end collision. Forgotten handbrake, touching down on a kerb. Then a nice jerky reverse so that it tears the spoiler. And forever: travelling at 40 km/h on a country road.

I should open my mouth more often, I learnt that today. I vow to do so. But today, quite honestly: after half an hour, I want to say something. After an hour, I still haven’t done it. No words would have any effect – except for additional uncertainty. I let it touch down a few more times with the spoiler, stop abruptly after bends on an open country road and crawl home comfortably after a glass of wine.

The day was still good: great panoramas. Kangaroos, first on a golf course, then in the wild. Finally koalas living in the wild. No jellyfish, crocodiles or sharks. Swimming in the cool ocean, watching surfers in the surf mecca of Toquai. Eucalyptus groves, magnificent coastal scenery and a beautiful sunset with good music.

Then comes the highlight of the day. I open my laptop in the car. The left hinge, which has been wobbly for a long time, breaks. The laptop isn’t broken, but the screen now needs a support and can’t take any more shocks. The cable could tear or the other hinge could break too. Then everything would just be senseless.

I was at the bottom when my car died last week. I worked like crazy. Rebuilt myself. Now the only thing in the world I need to work is falling apart. No laptop, no money. Simple as that.

At the hostel in Apollo Bay, of course, I can’t go online again to organise a repair as quickly as possible. I don’t even wait for the explanation, just switch off while the boss continues talking. I don’t want to hear any more. I’m fed up. More than cancelled.

A script is forming in my head. Something like Falling Down, without children and with a web designer. I storm into a hostel. I crush the owner’s head between the LCD and the keyboard of my laptop. Strangle 3 employees with a network cable. Split the skull of a random car dealer with a CD-ROM. When the police arrive, I quickly throw a rather implausible air kiss at fate.