Rescue

Breakdowns are inevitable, we all understand that. But no-one thinks - or wants to think - it will happen to them. Someone else should bear that burden.

I'm sympathetic to anyone stuck in a broken automobile, which is how I came to hurriedly shower, shave and dress at ten o'clock last night. A fellow driver was stuck at a rest area off the interstate with twelve customers and a busted limousine. I don't know the guy, and he works for the opposition service here in town, but I like to think that if I needed a hand, the brotherhood of drivers would come to my aid.

It's karma, right?

Here's how these things work: The driver breaks the car, and spends time placating his customers. He calls the boss, who is safely at home on his second Saturday night six-pack. In turn, he calls a tame mechanic, who is on his second fifth of vodka - well it is Saturday night, after all.

No immediate repair option then. The opposition boss then calls The Boss, knowing we have a humungous stretched SUV that can do the job. The Boss is on his fourth or fifth bong of the night, but can see more green by sending me out. So I get the call. Probably the only sober/straight driver in the county at that point, I figure I can help.

The elapsed time from that call to me rolling into the rest area was one hour and seven minutes. Now having done this kind of rescue before, I know what to expect. The driver is grateful and relieved. The Boss is counting his money. The opposition boss is glad he'll be receiving no more abusive phone calls. But the customers, ah the customers. Far from being happy, they get into an odd state of mind where they're sorta happy, but still sorta pissed. And you know who bears the brunt of that action.

We swap out the coolers, the drinks and the plastic penises, because this is a bachelorette party after all. Within ten minutes we're under way, and they've lost only an hour and a half of their night. Seems like a win to me.

Everything proceeds normally after that. The group disembark at the bride-to-be's place at 3:00 am. I sense that not everyone is happy, a pretty standard state of affairs when twelve people get together with some booze. Tension has a way of squeezing into a party like this.

You'd think that my part in the rescue operation would merit a little special thank-you or some kind of acknowledgment...and you'd think incorrectly. No tip, no warm words, nothing. But as I have discovered, that's standard.

My reward is the karma. Apparently.




Classic drawing from here [link]