I left the tyre place with my four brand-new polished rubber slippers on my Ford feeling chuffed and stable, if R14k lighter, when a shiny new and way-too-big for a 4-seater sportscar white BMW X6 switched on its hazard lights at a traffic light. The driver hopped out and ran to the car ahead of him. A dull faded green old Korean sedan in trouble.
The two drivers nodded, one hopped in and the BMW driver started pushing, soon joined by his tubby passenger, leaving the BM blinking at the lights. I followed them by driving round the BM. Soon they pulled over huffin and puffin. No sign of life in the old faded green jalopy. ‘I’ll give him a tug,’ I shouted through my open window and they nodded and ran back to the shiny new white thing, their part in the attempted rescue done.
I pulled off in front of the faded green thing and hopped out to fish for my tow rope, but the scrawny 30-ish bearded driver in a grubby mechanics overall had done this before. He had a rope out like a flash and bopa’d it to my tow hitch. I’ll watch for your hand out your window I said, ‘OK Uncle,’ he said.
Three times he dropped the clutch and the faded green hopped and screeched, tyres belching blue smoke (was he in first gear!?); but no go. He’d wave me on, his scrawny arm indicating, ‘Try Faster.’ I had to stop at two red lights, ran a third as all was clear and then at the fourth, BANG! he ran into me! Omigoodness. I pulled over, hopped out and we both surveyed the damage: My tow ball unaffected; his bonnet looking horrible, his already low-value car now worth less. Damn! Had his brakes failed? Had he lost focus? Had he texted his poppie? I didn’t ask.
Where can I tow you to where your car will be safe? I asked. I rent a room in the location outside Meerensee, can Uncle tow me to there? I’ll tow you to the nearest petrol station where you can ask the attendants to keep an eye on it while you arrange things, I offered. At the Shell station we pushed his car into a good spot as he told me his story. Blown head gasket, fixed, then blown again – ‘I think I used the wrong oil. Oh man,’ he sighed, ‘I just hoped By Grace it could have lasted until I got my drivers licence!’
Eish, maybe THAT was why he ran into the back of me?
I left him a cold drink and some cash and he was way too grateful for an oke still in such a pickle, praising ‘The Man Upstairs’ for helping him thus. Meantime there I was, R100 lighter and my feet firmly downstairs on terra firma. I muttered, He coulda just fixed you car rather, but didnt want to spoil his smile. Damn!
~~oo0oo~~