Yesterday I drove into my complex’s new gates, almost on purpose, not quite accidentally.
They are the kak-est gates ever, very recently installed as part of the most hideously ostentatious and ill-conceived renovation of the entrance to the complex, deemed attractive and indicative of a certain level of class by the board of trustees, I’d assume. Class like only the finest faux-Tuscan monstrosity can be classy. Actually, I don’t know if this is pretend-Tuscan, but it is most definitely real-kitch.
These new gates very regularly get stuck while opening or closing, and because there are two of them that open outwards at your car (with no signage indicating that your car will get smashed if you pull up to close to the gates), one inevitably opens slower than the other.
So I was cross, it might be safe to assume, when I sat camped out behind another vehicle for five minutes, waiting to get into my own complex while those gates did their thing. Perhaps as I sat imagining how pleasing it might feel to ram the gate with my car, I confused fantasy with reality.
The gates are kinda fucked. Because you can add on a full four weeks to any job that requires repairing in this bloody complex, I suspect they will be out of action for the next month. In fact, because it’s December and South Africa effectively shuts down and puts its fingers in its ears from 1 December to 15 January every year, it looks like the surly complex guard will become a little more surly at having to press the remote control button everytime someone wants in or out.
I feel almost guilty and ashamed, yet almost pleased.
I think my complex needs a holiday from me.