Let me just start this post off by saying that I'm the girl your parents warned you about, but not in some cool sexy way. No, more like in a 'keep-you-wits-about-you-don't-do-dumb-stuff' kinda way. For some reason weird stuff always happens to me. Sure in the long run it's always more funny than scary and I'm very grateful for that (hello blog material). My mom raised me right, I know what stranger danger is and due to my highly suspicious and mildly neurotic personality, I rarely find myself in dangerous situations, but often find myself in very strange ones. Essentially my life should be a sitcom, but not one of those modern ones, it should be one of those cheesy 90s comedies with terrible canned laughter and poor styling choices.
So keeping this in mind, I am now going to share a story with you that happened two years ago.
Before "the incident" (insert lightning and thunder in here) took place, you should know that I'm not the handiest human when it comes to house and car things. I can't hang a photo frame, I don't know what detergent goes with what and I know about 5 blanket car terminology concepts that I will use for everything! EVERYTHING! Your windscreen could be broken and I will STILL ask you about your suspension and turbo.
Taking this gap of knowledge into account, a couple years back, my step-dad decided to teach Kelsey (my sister) and me how to change a tyre. We did it successfully under his tutelage...well we eventually did, it took a couple tries, incessant giggling and an obvious demonstration of an overall lack of strength. While all of this was taking place, something we didn't connect together at the time was that we were changing the tyre together, taking turns to complete various steps in the changing process. That's right, I only know how to change half of a tyre...the beginning part. I need a Kelsey to complete the task at hand. It's like knowing how to make half of a camp fire or half of a Christmas turkey (two other tasks I have yet to master.)
Alrighty, so we jump forward to 2017. At the time I was working in Joburg as a Copywriter (for those who don't know a Copywriter is someone who works with words, we write anything from marketing campaigns, to articles, to wedding speeches-if you have a lack of sentimentality and have a lot of money). We worked in a little office in this Wellness centre, which sounds relaxing right? Calming? Well you're very wrong and clearly don't know what happens at a Wellness Centre! This centre had a full maternity and midwife section to it. Have you ever been on a writing deadline with a screaming baby in the background? Have you ever been introduced to a woman who enters your office randomly while breast feeding and you have a strategy session in 20 minutes? Have you ever looked out to the lawn outside your office on a crisp Friday morning (nursing a mild hangover) and seen pregnant yoga? Pregnant yoga! Once a woman was ambulanced away because her water broke on the lawn. Where was I? Oh yes, "the incident" [cue group scream.]
So one Wintery day, after a long weird work session, which involved being parked in by yoga moms, I headed home. On my way I noticed that I was running low on airtime and my momma always said to never be without airtime in case of an emergency...can you see where this is going? Is this enough foreshadowing for you? I pull into the nearest garage just before the highway, pop into the store to buy airtime. Forget to buy airtime. Buy a drink. Get into my car and head on my merry little way.
By this time it's about 5:15pm.
Now I'm stuck in bumper to bumper, pain in the ass, traffic. I can't wait to get home! It's cold, it's Winter, and I just want a hot shower! Then it happens. My car begins to get slower and slower, until it's slugging along like a drunk person trying to walk to the Uber at 3am. All the while I'm thinking to myself: "no this can't be happening to me, it's not happening to me. I'll just stop at the nearest garage and check it out" Denial is not just a river in Egypt huh?
I didn't make it to the garage. Outside the Alandale offramp, I had to pull over and check my tyre. All the while I'm still swimming in denial and in my head, nothing is wrong. Alas my denial bubble is dramatically popped when I see my tyre. It's flat. Not cute 'oh-a-little-puncture' flat. Nope, it's 'probably-slashed-by-an-ex-wife-for-revenge' flat.
I tried to call...anyone, but remember: No airtime. I got to hear that irritating automated voice that very unkindly tells you how little airtime you have, the subtext to her message was 'good-luck bitch!' I then sent out some desperate please call me's (yeah, ya girl still knows how to do that.)
I waited about 10 minutes, hoping anyone would stop, call, telepathically sense my trouble. Nothing. I knew that waiting here would be no good, I am always late and all over the place with schedules. If I was 3 hours late to the commune where I was living at the time, no one would think it was out of the ordinary. By this point taxi's trying to bypass the law, roads and ethics by driving in the emergency lane were hooting at me. How dare I use the emergency lane for an emergency?? Didn't I know that their death-wheels have priority?
So there I was: stuck in the middle of 5 o' clock traffic, with a flat, no airtime, being hooted at and feeling awfully sorry for myself. So I did what any rational adult in a similar situation would do: I sat in the backseat of my car and cried for a while. Not delicate tears, ugly tears that leave you gasping for air (you know the kind that would cause you mother to say 'if you don't stop crying, I'm going to give you something to cry about' back in the day?)
Eventually something clicked. I was going to have to sort this out. No one was coming. No one was stopping. If it got dark the game was over. So, like a big girl with big girl pants, I opened the boot and tried to desperately remember my tyre changing lesson. I got out the spare tyre, the jack, all the other doohickeys and took a deep breath. This was essentially Apocalypse prep and I planned on nailing it!
First I loosened the bolts slightly, which sounds smooth and technical but actually involved me jumping on the lug wrench (Googled that) until it gave away a bit. I then got onto my stomach (in the dirt, on the side of a highway, during peak hour traffic, IN WINTER) and after struggling and searching, found the two little cutouts under the car that the jack fit into. I put it into place and began cranking it like an old woman churning butter...but sideways I guess? All the while I am still crying and determinately telling myself: 'I am an independent woman, I am strong, I can do this' which I assure you, doesn't sound so tough when you're gasping for air and trying not to need a tissue. So I elevate my car, I actually do it! I take off the bolts. I take off the tire. At this point you would think I would celebrate, I'm halfway there and instead, I'm beginning to panic.
My first hand knowledge of changing a tyre is quickly running out, logically it's just doing what I did in reverse, but try telling that to a panicked, cranking, crazy person1 As if the universe heard my plea or the big man upstairs decided to give me a break, a car pulls up next to me. The first car to pull up by the way. Obviously I think that they are murderers, here to violently kill me and begin mentally choosing which weapon before me I will use to defend myself (I had decided lug wrench.)
Out the car comes a woman and a man (who I later found out were brother and sister.) She looks at me and asks if I need any help. As a South African my reflex was 'no, shame man. It's okay, I've got this' but due to the fact that it came out choked and spluttering, coupled with the fact that my makeup had now culminated in long black streams down my face, she ignored me and sent her brother in to help. She calmed me down while he changed my tyre. All in all they took about 15 minutes. At this time it was 6:30pm (crying in your car takes time man!)
I threw my arms around her and her brother and gave them a big hug for rescuing me, they said it was no stress, they were just glad that I was okay and then they went on their way. Truly they were my angels that day.
I got in my car and headed home. About 10 minutes into my (very careful) drive, I received a call from my sisters. They had seen my please-call-me, was I okay? I told them the whole story and they asked if they should come out to me and fetch me. Having gained back my bravado and stubborness, I told them I was fine and that I'd be home soon anyway.
Eventually I get home at about 7:30ish. No one had noticed I was late (see what I mean?) they did however notice the grease on my face and dirt on my body. When they asked me what happened I told them about the whole ordeal, and they laughed. It was a typical Courtney move. They were glad I was safe. I remember trying to add drama to the story, I could have been murdered! Robbed! I felt like one of those kids in those Christmas movies who meets Santa and has this whole adventure and once he's home his parents are like: cute imagination kiddo. I got cute imagination kiddo-ed.
You see the problem with always having weird stuff happen is that, while it's super funny later, in the moment it rarely is and due to the fact that I tell every story with the flair and hand gestures of a saucy drag-queen, I don't portray the bad stuff, so it get's put into the humour box only to be re-examined when I'm telling a funny life-story, which I'm fine with. I'm grateful I can laugh about the countless embarrassing and strange things that happen to me. I'm lucky to have friends and family that often have starring roles in the weirdness.
The moral of the story is: Always have airtime! Always...always (that one was said in Snape's voice)
I think at the end of the day I was just happy that I was safe and that I was lucky that things turned out the way they did. Obviously though, I am not as happy as the taxi driver's who had their emergency lane back...so there's that.