The universe. So huge. So awe-inspiring. So kick-ass.
A couple of days ago, I posted these risky words, words that I have come to richly regret:
‘The Rover has had a moment or two of pique, requiring a new battery and TWO new tyres. Aside from that, however, it’s been running fine.’
Guess what happened. Just one guess allowed. I’m waiting…giving you a few moments to weigh up your options…work out the statistical probabilities. OK, time’s up. What did you guess? That the Rover stopped working just fine? Well done! Good guess.
Score: Universe – 1; Cathy – 0.
You see, what happened was that a couple of weeks ago – while filling up at the petrol station – the Rover decided to have a bit of a hissy fit. I turned the key to start the engine, and the engine replied with an unfamiliar ‘waa-waa-waa’ sound. I don’t speak Car very well, but I quickly worked out that the sound, coupled with a lack of engine turning-overness, was most definitely a problem. Ignoring the petrol station man who was gesturing at me to stop talking on my mobile phone, I called for help from the AA. No, that’s not the AA you might be thinking of (how would they help get my car moving? Give it a group hug?) but the other AA acronym folk – the Automobile Association, who are in the business of unbreaking your breakdown. Which, when put that why, kind of also describes the other AA.
Truly, these guys are great. They turned up promptly. They pushed my car to a corner of the petrol station that wasn’t quite so in the way.
(Incidentally, the same station attendant who tried to tell me off for calling for help on my mobile phone also helpfully suggested that I push my car away from the front of the pump whilst waiting for the help to arrive. That’s right. He thought I should (or could) push a car. My initial response was to laugh because – surely – he had to be kidding. He wasn’t kidding. I turned the laugh into the best withering stare I could muster. The situation being what it was, the best I could muster was approaching – if not reaching – a personal best for derision and general fuck-offness. He wilted, mumbled something in the way of an apology, and shuffled away back to his post. Idiot.)
Anyway, Mr AA and his sidekick played with the Rover’s mechanical parts for a little while, the Rover seemed to enjoy the attention and I was once again mistress of my mobile metal box. The Rover love tickles did not come free – I had to buy a new battery – but as the transaction was done with a smile and lots of banter, it made the financial pain less acute. They then explained to me that the battery was only one part of the problem, that something called an ‘alternator’ would need to be looked at by a mechanic.
I nodded my understanding. And went into procrastination standby for two weeks.
I have a sort of fear of mechanics. Not a fear exactly – that’s a bit strong really – more like an acute ambivalence. I didn’t want to have to run around grotty car yards, be subjected to leers and possibly wolf whistles, while a fat geezer covered in fifty types of grease ripped me off in patronising man-gibberish. I tried to pass the task over to Mat – “this is definitely a man-task…I do all the cleaning….who washes your clothes?…etc, etc’“. Mat, however, also isn’t too keen on the whole idea of dealing with mechanics and annoyingly spends a great deal more time at work than I do. We therefore spent the intervening fortnight talking about how we should take the car to a mechanic, without actually managing to take any steps towards actually doing it.
The Rover was not happy about this dithering. Not happy in the slightest.
One evening last week, I got in my car and turned to key. The Rover replied with the – now familiar - ‘waa-waa-waa’ sound. I called on Mr AA once again (now wasn’t that membership fee the best 40 quid I’ve spent in a while?) The guy who turned up this time was possibly even more charming, and looking back on it I think he was flirting with me a little bit. He even offered to drive me home, but being a good girl, I refused the lift in lieu of accepting his first offer to restart my engine. I did my internet research and carefully, methodically chose a suitable mechanic – the first ones to answer their phone. And you know what? They also turned out to be lovely. The owner of the garage was charming and helpful. The mechanical man was sweet and kind of bumbling. They did the work in a day and kept me informed of the progress, without a hint of patronising man-gibberish . I don’t know if they overcharged, but frankly I don’t care. With smiles and handshakes and harmless chit-chat, all the potential negativity around mechanical failure was transformed into an aura of positivity.
The car starts when we want to drive somewhere, so I’m happy. The Rover spent an entire day having it’s parts tickled by experienced hands, so its happy.
Are you listening universe? All that happiness? That’s your cue.
