two hundred and eighty five

26 October. I was screaming along the Bruce Highway, well as much as you can scream at a little over 110km/h, to get back to Noosa from Brisbane because the school had called. Kate was in sick bay. (Mom, where are you when I need you?) Anyway, as I was screaming along I passed a stationary little red car on the side of the highway. Sitting next to the car on a camping chair was an old man. Holding an umbrella to awkwardly shield himself from the 30+ midday sun. On the side of the highway. Odd. I couldn’t stop, and reassured myself he must be fine. Or someone would stop. Then I imagined he was stuck without a mobile with no energy to stand and everyone whizzing by thought someone else would stop. Bugger. I had to stop. Kate was waiting. My phone battery was almost dead. Where to stop. Fuck what to do. Then I passed a sign with this number on for reporting any traffic issues on the Bruce Highway. I needed to tell someone. Within seconds I was through to an operator. A minute later and the compassionate man had promised someone would be sent out to check. I hung up with a smile on my face. And thought to myself, today I am very grateful I am in oh so very efficient Australia. My friends in South Africa know exactly what I mean.

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