Kate asked me to explain the term
“every cloud has a silver lining,” and since she is invariably of a sunny
disposition approved of the notion. Since this conversation I have attempted
its application when a cloud enters my airspace. I appreciate that relating
tales of car troubles may be tedious, but my motor vehicle has been something
of a four wheeled storm cloud of late. Last Tuesday morning just as I was pulling out of a parking space
outside of Jack’s school the power steering failed, and I was stuck partially
blocking a narrow road. I went through the AA routine, and expect to become
best friends with the call centre staff shortly. It also happened to be a white
van man morning in this particular cul-de-sac, and although I had engaged the
hazards, white van men issued expletives for what they considered extremely bad
parking until I explained that the technical term for the state of my motor at
that moment was “totally fucked” They then they apologised and negotiated
around my stranded rather than abandoned vehicle which is my general method of
parking. Eliciting sympathy from men not renowned for wishing female drivers
luck was something of a silvery chink.
Oh, and I lied when I said
earlier that I was pulling out of a parking space. I had pulled over onto the
outside school zig zags which everyone knows makes children hurl themselves in
front of oncoming traffic, and is evil. I digress, but Jack informed me
recently that the only positive thing about paedophiles is that they always
slow down near schools. The next cloud on the horizon was a traffic warden. I
explained that I had broken down, that I hadn’t actually parked on the zig
zags, and that my child hurls himself out of my slowly moving vehicle when I
deposit him at school which means that but for the break down I hadn’t
technically parked there. Just as I was about to receive a waggy finger, and
possibly a ticket the AA man arrived, told the warden that he would move my
car, and that was the end of that.
He confirmed that the power
steering was knackered and needed replacing, but with a method I admired he
carried out a temporary fix – he bludgeoned the pump with a mallet – to enable
me to drive the car to a garage. Then he asked me which garage I use. It then occurred
to me that the last time my car has seen a mechanic was the summer before Frank
died, so almost two years ago. I found myself explaining, matter of fact, that
my late husband sorted out the car more in the hope that he didn’t think I was
a completely dippy bitch, rather than playing the dead husband card, which I
now strictly reserve for the Inland Revenue, and to be honest they’re all out
of love now if ever there was any. While the AA man drove round the block to
make sure his temporary repair would hold out I phoned a friend (50/50 and ask
the audience being unfeasible) who knows about local garages, and he booked the
car in for me. Another chink of silver appeared.
The AA man then said that he
would follow me to the garage to make sure I arrived safely, spoke to the
garage owner in much the way that a paramedic would hand over a newly arrived casualty,
and then gave me his mobile number and invited me to call him if I have any car
related questions. The kindness of this particular stranger fully lined the
morning’s cloud.
Another silver lining was the
garage loaning me a car while my motor was repaired. The cloud: it was a skoda.
The silver lining: I appreciate the quality of my car.
When I managed to negotiate the
clunky old Skoda that Jack later remarked was louder on the inside then the
outside – a bit like the Tardis being bigger on the inside than the outside – I
received a call from my boss offering me five day’s urgent work that would be
worth about a grand. An unmitigated silver lining. Then the bill for the
repairs to the car arrived. Let’s call it quits.
No comments:
Post a Comment