Something I Still Miss from SA

One of the biggest shocks when we arrived in the UK in January wasn't the food, or even driving on unfamiliar roads. It was the temperature. We had left behind beautiful South African sunshine and arrived in weather that could only be described as grey, wet and cold.

I quickly discovered heated seats. What a magnificent invention! Every time I got into the car, I would turn the seat warmer up to maximum and the heater up so high that I was practically recreating a Durban summer inside my vehicle. The car became my happy place.

Then one day I needed petrol. I pulled into a garage and sat there waiting. Nothing happened. I waited a little longer. Still nothing. No smiling petrol attendant appeared. No cheerful greeting. No "Fill her up?" No one approached with a squeegee to clean my windscreen. No one offered to check my oil.No one wanted to inspect my tyre pressure. And most disappointingly, nobody appeared to perform those little dance moves that South African petrol attendants seem to have perfected.

I sat there looking around, convinced everyone was running late. Eventually I realised something horrifying, the petrol attendant was me. In the UK, if you want petrol, you have to get out of your lovely warm car, stand in freezing temperatures, fill the tank yourself, pay for it yourself and then return to your seat with fingers so cold they can barely hold the steering wheel.

The first few times I was completely intimidated by the petrol pump. There seemed to be far too many buttons and instructions. I was convinced that one wrong move would either lock my bank card, trigger an alarm or launch a small aircraft. But eventually I got the hang of it. Now I can fill my own tank without any drama.

I returned to South Africa for Christmas. I pulled into a garage and before I knew it, there was a smiling attendant at my window. "Good morning,." My windscreen was cleaned. My oil was checked. My tyre pressure was checked. I didn't have to leave my seat once. I felt like royalty.

It suddenly occurred to me that South African petrol attendants provide far more than petrol. They provide service, friendliness, conversation and a warm welcome. They turn a mundane chore into a pleasant experience. So yes, I have successfully adapted to British life and can now fill my own tank. But every time I have to climb out of my beautifully heated car into the freezing cold, I find myself thinking fondly of South African petrol attendants.

Image courtesy keithmichaels.co.uk