I was on the state highway, covered in sugar and blinking chocolatey sweat out of my eyes. The cupcakes I was carrying had melted and somehow dripped into my armpits. Drivers roared past, honking, laughing and shouting stuff. I was lost, stranded, and very sticky.
I don't make a habit of rolling around in confectionery and running down highways. I was supposed to be on a farm. I was supposed to be writing a funny article about what happens when a city slicker girl makes a tit out of herself working with cows and what not. I was supposed to be giving the cupcakes to the farmer as a thank you for letting me come.
Except that I had tried to take a bus. AT had soundly promised me that I could get there on the bus. I checked, I double-checked. I had looked repeatedly and sceptically at my phone. But it said I could do it. It lied. I ended up stranded in a gravel pit on the highway, a 45-minute drive from the farm.
I had no choice but to crawl back to the CBD to explain to my editor why I couldn't do it. And also why I bore such resemblance to a chocolate-dipped raisin. It wasn't what I'd call a career highlight.
Why am I telling you this? Well, this week I was thinking about the modern-day mantra that we should "collect experiences". I keep seeing a beer advert that raises a critical eyebrow at its viewers and asks, "Are you an experience collector?" Diesel tried something similar when it ran its "smart has the plans, stupid has the stories" advertising campaign. And I can't seem to walk past a travel shop that is not selling me life changing exotic experiences! (*Flights and diarrhoea not included.)