As soon as it happened, I knew what the result would be. I’d left coffee with Ally, driven down Rhede Street and turned right into Orange. I knew that the turn was too tight and felt it as soon as my back right wheel clipped the curb. I wasn’t going that fast, so I hoped for the best. Roger slipped into the traffic behind me a K or so down the road I glanced in my review mirror to see him waving his cell phone at me and gesticulating madly – pointing to the left-hand side of the road, the international sign for “pull over”.
I turned down my radio, and I could hear the whirring of pap rubber on the tar. Deflated, my back tyre and I. Roger couldn’t help me, he was rushing off to a client meeting. I let him leave, assuring him that I’d be able to get help, and demanding some cigarettes for the wait. I pulled out my cell, lit a fag and thought about who to call. Fritz now lives in Oz. My dad lives in Somerset West. That left a number of male colleagues.
Cue a conversation I had with one of our Tea Ladies a few days earlier. Colleen, she said, kept getting taken off her cleaning duties to help Anthony with “man’s work”. That’s a bit old fashioned I chastised her, knowing full well that my words would fall on deaf ears as I was talking to a woman that grew up in a time where men and women’s duties were written in books with delightful illustrations. “I’m quite happy to do a man’s job, unless I don’t have the physical strength.” I continued. I wouldn’t call myself a feminist, but I’m independent, that’s for sure. I don’t like asking for help.
Back to the side of the road, in my pretty pink pastel top and string of blue beads, there I stood, quite happily falling back the role of damsel in distress. Marius didn’t take my call, Glynn’s phone went to voicemail.
Let me be clear. I KNOW how to change a tyre. My father made me do it by myself, with my Golf parked on an incline. Somehow, the thought of changing it myself didn’t even enter my mind. This isn’t my job! I called Tim, who being tardy, hadn’t left home yet (thank you Tim, I was banking on it) and he came to help. Bringing a bottle of water with him to wash his hands. Clever boy.
Now, a few days later, I’m still ashamed that I didn’t get my hands dirty or rise to my own occasion. Put your hot air where you mouth is girl. And stop being such a wuss. (Or next time, at least have the good sense to flag down a hottie, driving a sexy car, who might be single. Heroes are found in the strangest of places.)
