If The Boom Isn’t Opening Automatically, Count Me Out… (Thanks, admyt!)

No it has nothing to do with the article but I couldn't find anything else.

I said I’d share the weird and wonderful things about my life, the random experiences, and my very dramatic feelings about them — and I think I’ve delivered. Some of what I’ve written already qualifies as full-blown trauma… I mean, storytelling. You’re welcome.

Now, if you’ve seen me strolling around a shopping centre lately, don’t be fooled. I wasn’t there for “fun.” I hate malls. Rosebank and Hyde Park are the only ones I can just about tolerate — usually for a quick mission to buy storage boxes (don’t get me started on my storage obsession). Otherwise, a mall is my nightmare. These days, it’s a “get in, survive, get out” type of mission.

But here’s my dealbreaker: if the boom at the parking doesn’t open the moment I approach, I’m gone. Hazards on, reversing out, find me elsewhere.

The Ticket Trauma

Here’s why: I drive with my car’s aircon set to minus 300 degrees. If it’s not snowing inside, I’m probably overheating or claustrophobic. That icy cocoon is my peace. So the idea of rolling down my window, letting all my soft blanket air out, leaning over so I don’t hit a curb, and grabbing a flimsy parking ticket? Not a vibe.

Even worse, those tickets are cursed for me. I either lose them, they demagnetise next to my phone, or when I do try to pay, the machine declares “ticket not readable.” Next thing I’m screaming through an intercom at a stranger who hates me, all because I wanted to spend R11 at a mall. No thanks.

The Humbling

But here’s why I’m writing about admyt now: I got a new car. Plates off, temporary permit in the window, feeling accomplished… and then realised: no plates = no admyt. Which meant, no automatic boom. Which meant, humility.

I had to trek back into the old-school world of parking tickets. Left one in the car, tried to push through the exit like a fool, begged a guard for help. At Thrupps, Stephan looked at me and said, “The car’s on admyt already, right?” Nope. No plates. Just chaos.

And when I did manage to pay a ticket? Of course it didn’t work. Cue me, red-faced, shouting into the exit intercom. Gross.

The Love Letter

So no, admyt isn’t paying me. But maybe they should, because this app is one of the few things keeping me sane. It’s convenient. It works. Their customer service actually exists (rare). And it genuinely makes my life easier.

admyt, you’re not the app I check first thing in the morning — but you’re the app that keeps me calm, cool, and Soft Blanket-scented while I blast cringe music in my happy place (my car). You’re a small joy that makes a big difference.

And for that, I appreciate you.

Because if the boom isn’t opening automatically? Count me out.