the girl who used to dance on fire and brimstone (whiskyinmind) wrote,
the girl who used to dance on fire and brimstone
whiskyinmind

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ever get one of those days?



You know the kind, when absolutely everything that can go wrong does? Slept in this morning, no real problem - I always start an hour early at work to build up flexi time so I still had time to get to work anyway.So, I'm up, showered, making coffee and I drop my favourite mug as I pick it up from the drainer. It only bloody lands on my sore foot doesn't it? So I'm hopping around the kitchen swearing and the dog's chasing after me thinking it's a game when the door goes - postman, delivering a CD and telling me there's a customs charge on it. Crap! Get myself sorted, pay the charge and finally get some coffee. Too hot, burn the roof of my mouth and dump half of it down my shirt for no good reason.

Trying to ignore the third degree burns I rush around looking for another shirt - and of course I've been a bit lax with the ironing haven't I? So, ratty old t-shirt's the best I can do and I finally think everything's okay and get my stuff sorted for work, feed the dog, go out, and find I've got a flat tyre. By this point I know I'm going to be late for work so I pull out my phone to let them know - there's no charge left. Of course.

Haul out the spare and the jack and get two nuts off the wheel and cannot move the other two. I feel like such a girl when things like that happen and I get all defensive when anyone offers to help but I swallowed my pride when this arrogant SOB stops - I swear I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd called me "little lady". So he goes all macho and tries to get the last two nuts off for me (and boy does that sound dodgy!) - meanwhile I'm trying not to cheer as he finally gives up. Mwa-ha-ha!

I do have RAC membership but I'll be damned if I'm calling them out for a flat in my own driveway so I manage to get it inflated enough to drive along to the garage at the end of the road. The guy looks at it, tells me it's a goner and I need a new tyre. Damn. £70 at least. Plus conveniently enough his boss has just driven off and he has to wait till he gets back before he can okay a job like that. I'm thinking "why" at this precise moment, and I'm also thinking are they trying the old "silly girl, knows nothing about cars" routine, so I pull a bit of techno babble (thank you dad!) and suddenly the price is down to £40 and they can do it straight away. Except, I'm at home, the car's still at the garage and I'm waiting for them to phone to let me know it's ready. Hmmm.

One plus point - when I finally got through to work I got Craig on the other end of the phone and as soon as I said "I've got a flat tyre" he nearly grabbed his keys to come give me a hand - what a sweetie! Weird how when a stranger offers to help he's automatically an arrogant SOB but when Craig offers he's a sweetie. I'm surprised I can keep my balance with a chip this size on my shoulder....
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