Rescue

 

I'm sitting in my car when the rescue vehicle finally appears.

I make no more than a small movement of my hand and he has spotted me. He draws to a halt further down the road, and then walks back. He is a cheery fellow. He's the sort of person who knows exactly what he is doing.

"Exhaust fallen off?" he says, as if that's my name.

I nod. I've been called worse.

I waited so long for him to appear that I have almost lost all power of speech.

"I bet that made a racket," he says. "Bet it made a terrible noise," he adds, as if trying to tempt me to make a noise of my own.

I nod silently as if the experience has rendered me mute.

"I'll just tie it up with bungee ropes," he says, taking control of the situation.

At this I feel so cross with myself. Why didn't I think of using bungees ropes? We have them for the bicycle. I had thought of using gaffer tape, but all the time bungees were the answer. I could have got the exhaust all tied up and have had it in the garage hours ago. So I fume silently.

Within seconds he has secured the exhaust. He then takes my car keys, readies the ramp and then drives my quiet compliant car onto the back of his lorry. By now I am really annoyed. This little excursion the car is about to enjoy has cost me forty quid.

Within minutes, he has negotiated a three-point-turn in a situation not for the faint hearted. This man is clearly a thrill seeker, but still I am fretting about my feebleness about not even thinking about bungees.

"Could I have tied up the exhaust like you've just done and then driven it to the garage?" I ask. "Did I really need a rescue lorry?"

We are dodging cars in the narrow street like tenpins and it was probably not the ideal time to ask such a question.

"No," he says, reassuring me. "You did the right thing. People don't realise how hot exhaust pipes get. It would've melted through gaffer tape and bungees. Then the exhaust would have fallen off, especially on these speed bumps, twisting the metal back and doing even more damage to your car."

He has such a vivid way of describing things that I can visualise this scenario clearly.

"Nope, you did the right thing calling me out," he says, making a right turn at the top of the road where even the brave only dare to turn left. He then swings into a non-existent space in the stream of traffic and accelerates. I'm in for a white-knuckle ride.

He grins. He has an oily complexion; his face looks part machine.

"Love it," he says. "Love the challenge. Every situation is different. I sometime rescue upturned cars in fields. I like trying to work out how to do that. I've got a wrench. Haul them in," he pauses, as he drives over the middle of a mini roundabout. "One though. One stays with me. It was upside down and full of blood. Never seen so much blood."

"Did they survive?" I ask horrified.

But it's clear he loves rescuing cars more than rescuing people.

"Here we are," he says.

And before I've had time to speak to receptionist my car has already been off-loaded, and he has driven away.