The ecological consequences of risk-taking

Once upon a time, when I was a young buck working my first real job, I was seconded to a company for a two-week period to help them sort out an issue in their contact centre.

- Rodney Ghobril

This required me to travel to Cape Town from my native Johannesburg. Because I was young and in love, I shelled out the extra cash for my then-girlfriend to come with me, as my first three days in Cape Town would be over a weekend. (The promise of hotel room sex in another city was simply too much for my 27-year-old hormones to resist.)

Upon arrival in the wonderful one-bedroom apartment that my company had secured for us, we discovered a problem with the hot water. As an apology, they upgraded us to a massive family unit for the remainder of my girlfriend’s stay. When she left, I got “downgraded”, so to speak, to a two-bedroom unit.

On my second night in my new apartment, I was rudely woken in the wee hours by the alarm of the clock radio in the bedroom I wasn’t using. To this day, I have no idea why it went off and it scared the bejeebers out of me. (The part that really freaked me out, when I reflected on this later, was that it didn't go off on the first night. So, what had changed? Dun dun DUUUUN!)

I rushed into the room and, still half asleep, tried switching off the ear-shattering klaxon. I eventually resorted to unplugging it, wondering to myself if I would have a heart attack if it continued blaring once unplugged, like something out of Stephen King’s 1408.