The gods are telling me something

I either need to change my working hours or change my job. My mother thinks I should just change the route I take to work, but where's the fun in that?

Why the drastic steps? Well, this morning, on my way to the grindstone at the ridiculous hour of 05:15, I see flashing lights from a police car in the distance. Thinking nothing of it, I continue on my not-so-merry Monday way. This is South Africa after all, flashing police lights are as common as red buses in London.

The vehicle to which said flashing lights belong to, without warning, ramps up the centre island and spews out two officers wielding menacing firearms and just as menacing facial expressions. Expressions that tell me I should probably stop my car in the middle of a main road (so what if it's 05:15 and there's no traffic!) to let them cross. At least one cop said thank you ... And that's when the guns were in the air, shouts of "Get down!" filled the otherwise peaceful morning and two rather bewildered blokes quietly surrendered as they stared down the barrel of an AK47. I would, too.

Praying that the guys on the barrel-end of the gun wouldn't draw their own weapons, rendering me a victim of collateral damage, I eased my car around the officer and continued on my way. Ah, just another day in sunny SA.

So why the need to change my route, you ask?

See this is not the first time I've been an almost-victim of crime on my way to work. I was once nearly involved in a smash-and-grab and have also been pushed off the road by a government vehicle.

I think the gods are trying to tell me something. Like, why, oh why, are you up at stupid 'o clock every morning, you stupid woman?!