I Fucking Hate Queenstown. And Dunedin.
So, yesterday I was due to meet my counterpart in Dunedin. It's a two and a half hour drive to Dunedin. It has a one way system.
You remember the last time I tried to go to Dunedin.
This time I was going to be driving myself! Alone! To a part of Dunedin I had never been before! GUARANTEED FAIL!
Thinking I was being SO CLEVER AND ORGANISED I Googled it. I oriented myself to The Octagon, because that's pretty much the major Dunedin landmark I can always find myself to. I found where I was going. I memorised the directions withint the city boundaries. Because that was the relevant bit - the rest of the drive was basically just highway all the way from Invers to Dunners, no worries.
HA! FAMOUS LAST WORDS, MS. WHIZ!
I got some directions from Himself on Which Way To Leave Town. Here's how the conversation went:
Me: So I drop you off at work, turn left out the car park, head to the roundabout like a normal workday. But instead of turning right, I go straight through, right?
Him: No no turn left.
Me: Are... you sure? I could have sworn it was straight through
Him (with extreme smug smugness of the righteous): Nope, turn left.
Me: Uh.. are you SURE? Turn left and double back the way I came, as if going home?
Him: Yup.
So I did just that.
For the record, if I'd gone straight on LIKE I FULLY FUCKING WANTED TO, I would have gone onto STATE HIGHWAY ONE TO FUCKING DUNEDIN.
When I turned left? I turned onto STATE HIGHWAY SIX TO FUCKING QUEENSTOWN.
I was slightly concerned about the "Queenstown" sign, but I figure...well, Queenstown IS in a northerly direction (as is THE ENTIRE REST OF THE FUCKING WORLD EXCEPT ANTARCTICA, but I digress), Google maps DID give Highway 6 as an "alternative route", there must be a turn off to head to Dunners.
Oh, there was a sign for the turn off to Dunners. AFTER Queenstown. Past Cromwell. Two hundred and forty odd kilometres from Invercargill. And coincidentally 220 kilometres from Dunedin. WHICH WAS 230 KILOMETRES FROM WHERE I FUCKING WELL STARTED. Because Dunners is northeast from where I started. Queenstown? Pretty much diagonally northWEST.
Fucking. Outrageous.
Needless to say, Himselfis in the doghouse. Almost literally. I threatened him with sleeping in the garage, in the angry phone call I made to him from a beautiful scenic lookout spot near Cromwell, distressing a busload of Japanese tourists as they tried to take photos. It was noon. I was two and a half hours from Dunedin, just like when I set off on my journey THREE HOURS BEFOREHAND.
Naturally, I never did make it to Dunedin. Instead, I turned right around and went home, collapsing in an exhausted heap at about 3:30 after pretty much 7 hours of straight driving. Shittest workday thus far, without a doubt.
NEXT WEEK: My second member of staff gets back from her FOUR WEEKS OF FUCKING LEAVE, THANK HOLY FUCK. I try to get to Dunedin AGAIN! YAY!
In other news: I GOT MY FLIP! I'm in ur house, recordin stuff out mah nut. Prepare for Wigglewhiz School Of Nausea-Inducing Camerawork Video Journalism! WOOT WOOT!!1!