"How was your day, yesterday?" he enquired innocently.
The Cow drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "You remember the saga of the car licence - which I was told had to be renewed in Skelmbos, and after two wasted trips was told must be done in Cape Town? Well, I was there as they opened yesterday, but as I got to the counter, the power went down. Pinelands was gridlocked. Can you imagine - a Zimmerframe traffic jam? Still, I got out, and as I drove into Mowbray, the lights there went out. I got to Campus to witness a rapid exodus of staff and students, and gathered that power was down here too. When it came back on, I phoned and checked, and it was back in Pinelands too, so I rushed out there. As I set foot in the building, the power crashed again. And now, again! That's twice in Pinelands, three times on Campus, and once at Stellenbosch! I've lost count how often at home, but add another twice in Claremont and once in Tokai!"
Gramsci bit his tongue, which is difficult as spiders don't have tongues. He'd been on the verge of reporting Mr Timberland's comment about the Cow's negative force field, but thought better of it. The power outage might render the security cameras inoperable, but witnesses might spot her slashing Mr Timberland's tyres since there was little to do but stroll along University Avenue.
"Did you get your licence?" he asked instead. The Cow snorted, flaring her nostrils. The Nostril Photographer missed a real scoop, with that. "Not. Yet." She uttered in measured tones. "Their computers, like ours, need power and networks to operate. But it's been a really interesting experience. The woman in Stellenbosch was really helpful - she couldn't help that I'd been lied to about weekend opening hours, but she was determined to be as compensatory as possible. The guy in Pinelands was a real sweetie - and when the power went down, we looked at each other and both burst out laughing. And the woman, when I went back later, pointed at me accusingly and proudly informed everyone that I'd brought the power down earlier, too! The car guard offered me a special regular slot, given the frequency of my visits. And I met a whole bunch of really nice people in the queue."
"So people were quite mellow about the outage?" Gramsci asked. "Oh no!" the Cow shook her head. "Some screamed and shouted, thumped counters and demanded to see supervisors, shrilling about waiving penalties and the inefficiencies of the Council and every soul who worked for The City That Works For You. But that was mostly the people who came in the BeeMercs and the SUVs. The drivers of the CitiGolfs and the Unos and the Kadetts were far more relaxed. Disempowerment was clearly nothing new to them, they didn't take it personally. They used the opportunity to make bad puns and good friends."
"So now... " Gramsci began slowly, "you're technically driving an unlicensed car?"
"So?" the Cow retorted. "That only becomes an issue if you happen across a speedcop. With all these power outages, they're all phoning in sick to avoid point duty. When last did you see one at large?"
Gramsci had to concede that point.