Heatwave Horror: The Pool That Ghosted Me

When the Netherlands Tried to Slow-Roast Me and My Bank Account

Mense, ek’s klaar.

This week didn’t just nudge my patience—it tried to flambé it. The Dutch sun went full braai-master, and I was the boerie. So, with the optimism of someone who’s clearly forgotten every online-shopping disaster, I ordered a “next-day” inflatable pool… for survival, obviously.

Ja. Next day, sure.

Eks Verskriklik Geïrriteerd, Hoor

Picture the scene:

I’m glistening like a vetkoek in a deep fryer.

My thighs are rehearsing for Marvel’s next blockbuster: The Friction Wars.

I’m fanning myself with a Woolies bag and whispering “sterkte” to half-melted ice cubes.

Order placed. Paid. Tracked. Manifested.

Day 1: Silence.

Day 2: Tracking does the Macarena.

Day 3: Listing vanishes faster than my last hope of straight hair.

Emails? Sent.

Phone calls? Made.

Voice note threat? Locked and loaded (we know that’s Saffa nuclear).

Then my banking app cheerfully chirps:

“Congrats! You’ve just donated €300 to the International Fund for Invisible Pools.”

Eks so geïrriteerd ek kan ’n eier in my agterend kook.

Status Report

Pool: AWOL

Customer service: Casper the Friendly Ghost

Bank account: €300 lighter and feeling breezy

Naturally, I screenshot every pixel, time-stamp every sigh, and file a report that would make SAPS proud. Who knows whether I’ll win—but for now I’m “over it” (translation: refreshing my bank app like it owes me back-pay).

Meanwhile… Doomsday Prophet? Clueless

My husband, blissfully unaware, sips rooibos while charting theoretical global meltdowns involving sunspots and cryptocurrency. He doesn’t know about the missing €300 yet. If I tell him:

He’ll sell our worldly goods and suggest relocating to Lapland, or

Start digging a bunker with a teaspoon, armed with Excel spreadsheets.

Not today, Satan. Let me survive the heatwave first—then we panic together.

Current Survival Strategy

Fanning myself with a spatula (fans are “out of stock”).

Eating yoghurt with a fork—spoons are too warm.

Feet dunked in a Tupperware of hose water, streaming “Mediterranean Beach Ambience” to trick my brain.

Rage-snacking on emergency biltong (five-star recommendation).

Drafting my next politely urgent email:

Dear Sir/Madam, kindly deliver my pool or refund my €300 so I can buy a kiddie splash-pot and fill it with my tears.

Lessons From the Lowland Lava

“Next-day delivery” is a bedtime story for grown-ups.

Keep emergency biltong within reach at all times.

Never trust a pool listing that disappears quicker than someone who says, “I’ll call you.”

Winter, I repent. I promise to hug my parka and keep quiet next time you visit.

 expatvibes.net

Coolest Xpat Vibes — For Saffas who sweat, sigh, and screenshot everything

PS: If you spot an inflatable pool drifting down the Maas—or €300 doing backstroke through cyberspace—please nudge them toward my backyard. Payment in half-melted ice lollies and endless gratitude.

Stay cool, stay sceptical, and screenshot absolutely everything.