Sometimes I say things, only to later on find myself in situations which make me regret that I ever said those things. On Thursday night I passed a comment about how I hate getting stuck behind slow drivers on my way home from work, and that if people can't drive at the speed limit they shouldn’t be allowed on the road. Oh how I regret that I ever said that.
On Friday morning I was driving my usual way to work, when suddenly I heard a loud noise that was partway between a bang and a pop. This was followed by some less loud – but equally as concerning – screeching scraping noises.
My initial concern was that part of my engine had exploded. My Dad has been reminding me for weeks to check my oil and water, and for weeks I have been consistently forgetting to check my oil and water. If that was what was causing the noises I knew there was noooooo way my dad would be coming to my rescue.
I found a suitable place to pull over, and got out to inspect my car.
The good news was that the noise definitely wasn’t caused by my engine exploding, but the bad news was that I wasn’t going to be making it to work on time. I wasn’t happy.
I gathered the tools out of my car and got to work.
It didn’t take long for me to realise this wasn’t going to be an easy task. The person who last did the nuts up on that wheel must have possessed super-human powers, because they would not budge.
It was more than my pathetically noodle-like arms could manage.
After several attempts, I managed to loosen it by stamping ferociously on it.
The next two nuts loosened in much the same way.
The fourth and final nut proved to be the most difficult. Nothing would persuade it to part company with the bolt. I even tried kicking it kung-fu style.
After many frustrating minutes and countless attempts at loosening the bolt, I found myself with the jack in my hands, mercilessly beating the nut loosening tool.
It wasn’t helping to loosen the nut, but it was certainly making me feel better.
Just when all hope was lost and my desperation was at its worst, an angel arrived.
She pulled over in her Postman Pat red rural post van, and offered to help me. Apparently, rural post vans are prone to flat tyres, making her an expert tyre changer. She was so fast and efficient that if she ever grows bored of delivering mail she could consider a career as a formula 1 racing tyre changer.
I made it to work half an hour late and considerably dirtier than I normally would be, but in an excellent mood all due to the kindness of a stranger.
That evening, as I drove home with my tiny space saver spare tyre on, I was forced to regret that I’d ever said those words about slow drivers. With my spare tyre restricting me to only 80km/hr, I was now that slow driver holding up all the traffic.
