NOTE: This is the third post in a three part entry. View the first part here and the second part here.
Previously on WHEEL OF MISFORTUNE…
I had planned to have a nice, quiet weekend.
My darling dearest asks me, “Do you think I can make it from Onikan to the house driving on a flat tyre?”
I close my eyes, clutch my boy tight, swallow then exhale, “I’m coming to get you…”
So as we get to the street where this mishap occurred, there’s a guy frantically pointing towards the passenger side of my car and he said to me, “You have a flat tyre!”
Sunday… dusk
After viewing Act 2, someone asked me who I offended; someone else said, ‘When it rains it pours,’ and on cue, on this fateful Sunday, the rain started to pour…
CALM DOWN!!!
If it really did start to rain, I’d be too traumatized still to write this piece. With all else that had happened, I’d really seek out whoever I may have offended. But rain falling would have made a more enjoyable read for you, right? Wicked somebody!
Anyway, I ‘woosah’ knowing I have two flat tyres to content with. A voice tells me it was on one of those two aeroport runs that this mishap occurred and I got the flat. The problem is, my tyre pressure gauge is permanently on and the failsafe options in the manual haven’t worked and the service center mechanics are clueless as to what’s up, so a manual check of each tyre (which every good driver is supposed to do, anyway) before I drive off is what I always do, however, remember the situation – stuck Missus, cranky son, setting sun – I was in, so a quick getaway was all I was thinking of. But really, what are the odds of having a flat tyre on the way to sorting out another?
Sigh!
So, I finally get to where the wife is parked and she has a huge expression of relief on her face and quickly thanks me; before bypassing me and going for her son. Yeah, I’m used to that by now, no grudges. It is a stress free weekend after all, eh? I notice about six – eight grown men, not 20 feet away, playing football in the streets with tyres (the irony) as goalposts. Yes, the wife asked these gentlemen to assist her with changing the tyre and the said, emphatically I might add, if for nothing else, drama’s sake, NO!!! As I stood there gripping the tyre iron, I thought to myself, ‘What would Van Damme do?’ And it came to me…
He’d go there and politely interrupt, saying he didn’t mean to interrupt, in his awful accent which would be more responsible for their confused faces than his actual interruption. He would then explain, while absolutely murdering the word ‘chivalry,’ that it is rude not to assist a damsel in distress. One of them would make a rude remark, the others would laugh, the leader of the gang would poke his chest while informing him it was in his best interests to return to his woman and stop ruining their game.
What would follow is the lone Van Damme taking out all these muscular football players with a combination of the tyre iron, their football, makeshift goalposts and a belt. Oh, I like the sound of that but the tyre iron looks up at me and says in a very heavy Waffi accent, “But bros, you no be Jean Claude, na?!” I look at them in disgust one more time, as they play on, clueless to the fact that a talking tyre iron just saved them an ass whooping but I digress.
So, we’re parked in front of some office building and when I go about looking for bricks to wedge the tyres, the security dude starts walking towards me, I’m guessing to tell me I can’t park there. I think the devil in my eye (yeah, just the one eye) made him change course and his plan entirely as he said nothing, walking past instead. The wife is now in my car with the son, while I set to work on her car. I lose some valuable minutes of daylight because her car jack instructions are not written in common sense. That’s what you get with a Skoda, eh? (Yeah, blame the manufacturer for your nincompoopery but seriously, it wasn’t straightforward, at least, not to my hot head).
So, I get my straightforward Toyota jack – set, insert pin and keep rolling, rolling, rolling like Limp Bizkit – and get to work on her tyre while getting all sorts of grease all over my body. I failed to mention that I’d just had my bath for the first time all lazy weekend about 15 minutes before the distress call came. Yeah, and now, here I am, a little grease monkey. While I’m changing her tyre, their football comes within inches of me and I’m fuming, contemplating whether or not to deflate their ball but the wheel knot in my hand says to me, “Bros, even Chuck Norris no dey first find wahala.” Yeah, it had a point and I was racing against daylight but the ball retriever – yeah, they are dogs, aren’t they? – was smart enough not to make eye contact with me for if looks could kill…
the flat tyre mafia
I’m actually proud of myself as I make quick work of her car and set off to face mine, while she and Sonny Jim move into her car. For the first time, after having this car for about 18 months, I realize that my spare is the hilarious doughnut, at least, that got me smiling a little bit. So, after I jack the Toyota up – shoulders killing me at this point but I summon the healing power of Wolverine which has my exhaust in hysterics, amused by my continued idiocy – I get to loosening the knots which are really wedged in there. It’s getting darker now, so the real fear is misplacing the knots, so they have to be carefully placed. After I’m done with the knots, I get up to remove the tyre but it won’t budge. I’m like, “Oh, hell no!” I shake it, I hit it, I try to roll it, I hug it, sing to it, offer it some gum… nada! The tyre ain’t having it! I want to just collapse to my knees, drop everything and cry but my son would at that point in time learn how to walk and proceed to get out of the care and slap the [offensive content of his diaper] out my mouth. So, instead, I ‘woosah’ again. I try to get the tyre out for a few more minutes but no joy. My wife gives possibly the most sympathetic look that has ever been recorded in human history. Wish I had a photo.
the stubborn tyre and the teased doughnut
So, defeated and dejected, I start to screw the knots back into place on the flat tyre then proceed to lower the car and watch as the tyre flattens against the concrete. I get up to start throwing all the stuff into the trunk and somehow, the rolling pin for the car jack manages to scratch my wrist and via some security lights in the distance, I notice a little blood. ‘Just great,’ I think. ‘Typical to still add physical pain to the emotional and spiritual turmoil I’ve already endured on this stress free weekend.’ Anyway, all loaded up, I ask my wife to drive behind me as I… as I… drive the car from Onikan to the house on a flat tyre!
the cut
Who is in the garden?
I Am Random!
PS – The lesson I got from this is, always give proper answers to questions you’re asked and save everybody a lot of hassle. That said, I must be the worst student around as my answers are more roundabout than Ibadan’s Ring Road. If anything, got to spend time with the family, eh? And that cut wasn’t as little as I thought. While it thankfully wasn’t too deep, it was rather long and its leavings now serve as a permanent reminder to not make any plans.
the scar
Have I learned my lesson, though? Of course not! This weekend, I have PLANned to watch all four movies in the American Pie series without fail. If I’m not too ashamed, I’ll tell you how that goes.
The index and the middle!
I Am Random 