Could there be any sight sadder* than a man with a bagful of roleplaying accoutrements (dice, freshly generated character sheets, little lead figures), pacing up and down a road, waiting for a lift to Truro that would never materialise?
I even walked up the hill to get reception for my mobile. No answer from anyone, so I turned and trudged slowly home again, multi-faceted little bits of plastic rattling in their container, probably mocking me by rolling twenties.
(Obviously only the D20's could roll twenties. The D6's were probably rolling sixes, and the D8's eights and so on, but still).