My car, Goldilocks, is an ancient old being that is a leaky cauldron of fuel and exhaust fumes. She's old, tired and in need of a retirement home. Yet every day I churn her awake and demand service from her. She's a faithful old bag and I love her.
The licensing department doesn't. After working job no. 3, I have enough R's to pay for a roadworthy test and get her re-licensed (that thing one has to do every year! Who knew?). License department sends me to the pits of hell. The dreaded mammogram of any car older than 5 years (please note my goldilocks, the car, is more like grey locks at age 25), the gynecologist of engines - the roadworthy testing centre. The very sweet man at roadworthy put lots of x's, a bunch of notes (he could give any doctor a run for his money in the writing department) and the dreaded red mark of shame "RE-TEST!" On the paper. He won't even take her for a road test - my reliable old lady, the one that gets me around, carts my daughter and the dogs, and the kitchen sink. I have to get a special permit for him to drive her, that's how expired my car's license is. >insert a bunch of expletives with lots of !!!!'s and ????'s and the name of a few holy deity's<. I limp out of the gates of hell, with my life in tact, and a few tears leaking out of my eyes. I'm such a leaky cauldron these days. Back to school, because Wednesday is school day, and I took off an hour to get the leaky cauldron tested. If only A++'s were tradeable I would be rich!
Thursday, at job no. 1, I manage to secure an early payout of my December leave pay. That little nest egg that I was saving to fix my fridge(you can get away without a fridge in winter, but not in 32+ degree weather), buy a new Hoover (mine stopped sucking in July), and build a moat, castle walls and a fortress to contain my garden eating, hole digging, chew everything in sight (glass bottles included), sit and watch my mom hold her head in frustration when she comes home at 1 in the morning from job 3 because he's eaten the deck, railing and the dustbin, cradling her doc martens (from Camden Town) in her lap, demonic Labrador named SugarMan. And with the leftovers of my money buy my sunshine golden haired child a Christmas present. (Ja right!!!! Hahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaa!)
So with money in the bank I start sourcing for the holy grail of mechanics. I phone every oil beater in the garden route. Even the dodgy 3rd from the backyard's backyard guys. The best and cheapest quote comes from ta da!!! Supa Quick. They're super quick. Who knew an exhaust had 3 BOXES! And bushes! Like a bush is a green fluffy thing with branches and shit that grows on the side of the road and stops you flashing cars on the highway. But NOOOOOO a bush is a thing on the wheel, someplace there in the car (er..... I am actually highly intelligent), and the shocks (not the electrical kind) and you have to replace your wheels! Like, they don't just keep on wheeling and the back window must wind down! Why? I don't want my toddler jumping out the widow! She's the kind of person that if you can't open a jar or a packet or an anything, just hand it to her, she'll get that f*cker open, but no. For my car to be on the road, the window must open. And the engine needs to be steam cleaned. Like really!!!!!
Now. The cash is sorted, the mechanic is sorted, how in all holy named things am I going to get my car TO the mechanic (a whole town away) AND wait for them to fix it and bring it BACK? I have job 2&3 on Friday. And I am back to back the whole of next week with job 1,2 &3.... Time is running out! I only have 13 days left to take my car back to the gynae to get inspected again, hoping she will pass! "Not to worry" the advertising verimark man's voice says. "With this stain remover your problems are over!" "We'll collect your car, service it and bring it back, at.... Wait for it! No charge!" Madeleine from Supa Quick says. She is an indescribable angel. Sigh. Wow. It takes a lot to render me speechless. The birth of my daughter being one of them, and finding out I was the "other woman" in 'the virus's' life, being another. So words failed me.
At 16:13, 1 hour and 17 minutes BEFORE they were due to collect the leaky cauldron, Charlie's Angels (aka the Supa quick ladies) are at my house waiting. My old bag limps up the driveway, and I hand her over (house keys and all, yes I forgot to take them off). I hand her the gynae's prescription and she takes one look at it, winks at me with stars in her eyes, and says "not to worry, we'll fix this!". I'm rushing around in the background taking out baby chairs, dog bones, the bodies of my enemies, squish packets (only a parent will know), blankets, jerseys, balls, bubbles, my files, a handbag, old wet wipes, hey! That's where the hamster was (it's a joke, princess Jane is still in her cage happily biting kids since May 2016) and trying to make some tidy semblance of my golden goose before she goes for surgery.
And now I wait for my golden steed to be returned. They're going to SMS me the final quote, which I will approve in between "hi there! How do you want your coffee? Hot as hell, white as a virgin's inner thighs or black like the oil in my car?"
