I work for the Auto Club. Your car's broken down? They send for me to go and fix the problem. Change a tyre? No problems, assuming you have a spare and the spare isn't flat. Don't laugh. It happens. Run out of gas? No problems, I've a can in my truck that will give you enough to get to the next gas station. Sorry, it's only regular. I don't keep a range of gas types.
What puzzles me is why their breaking down seems to be my fault if I can't fix it. I had one guy complaining because his brand new car, new, not used, had stopped running for no reason. He was most incensed when I pointed out that the reason was simply because he ran out of gas. Flatly denied the possibility because the low gas light hadn't come on. I pointed out that that model car didn't have a low gas light and that promptly became my fault. How would I know why they didn't put one on a cheap, low-budget car?
Some calls are fun. Some women just can't resist flirting with the mechanic who's come to their aid. (Why not? It's safe. What's he going to do in the middle of a busy road? Enjoy the badinage, is all.)
Some calls are down-right scary. I answered one call to find a very pregnant lady sitting in the driver's seat hyperventilating. Her water had broken and she was in labour. Why the hell she called the Auto Club instead of an ambulance is beyond me. I parked her car and drove her to the hospital in somewhat of a hurry. (Her reasoning was that she'd already paid her dues to the Auto Club and she didn't want to pay for an expensive ambulance.)
Early morning calls of 'my car won't start' are usually caused by the customer leaving his lights on overnight. A jump start and away they go. Some are a little more complex.
"Sorry, mate, but your engine block is cracked. You need a new engine and that's not something I can fix."
He wanted to know why it was cracked so I did some more investigation. That's when I noticed a hole in his radiator. At first I thought he'd run dry, over-heated, and cracked the block, but he maintained he hadn't been driving. A closer investigation showed the hole went right through his radiator and through the grill. Someone had shot his car. I told him to report it to the police and he went all quiet and embarrassed.
Turned out he'd been playing with a new gun and accidently hit the car. It's amazing how much power there is in a .45 bullet.
And so it goes, fun, fun, nightmare.
Mind you, some calls are intriguing. I had one recently where the customer claimed that the car had worked well the day before but the next day flatly refused to start. My immediate thought was flat battery and I pulled into her drive assuming that I'd have to give her a jump-start.
As soon as I pulled up this sweet young thing of about twenty popped out of the house, bouncing around in some agitation in her eagerness to get her car going. It was a hot day and she was dressed for it, and not with the intention of going to a stuffy office, either. She was wearing some sort of boob-tube, and she had plenty of boob to put in that tube. That made her bouncing around all the more interesting because, even when she stood still, certain things seemed to keep on bouncing. Her other major item of clothing, if you could call something that small major, was a pair of hot pants. If someone had told me that they'd been painted onto her I'd have been willing to believe it.
Her car was in the garage, wrong way round of course. I hoped she wasn't parked so close to the far wall that I couldn't get in front of the car but my fears were unfounded. There was plenty of room. I confidently checked the battery and said a rude word under my breath when I found it was fully charged. Now I'd have to do some real work.
It's hard to work when a cute little pixie is shadowing your every move. I was constantly waiting for her to get out of my way as I moved around. I finally determined that her starter motor was dead and due for burial but she was lucky as I had a couple of starter motors in the truck, one of them the same as her current one.
I explained the problem to her and told her I could resolve it straightaway but the cost of the motor was over and above her dues. She grumbled but whipped out a credit card from somewhere. Damned if I knew where she'd had it concealed. (Turned out she had a phone in a case wedged between her breasts, and kept the card in the case. Her breasts were generous enough to hide it.)
My problems started when I tried to actually change the starter motor. Denise, that was her name, leaned over the engine right next to me, getting in my way. I politely suggested she move aside and she shifted about half an inch. I pointedly explained she was in the way and she had to give me a bit of room. She moved over another half inch.
I was getting quite irritated and I finished up giving a mild spank to her bottom as I told her to shift it. (Did I mention that she had a very nice little bottom?) I know, I know. Assault, sexual assault, sexual harassment, committing violence upon a customer, etcetera, etcetera. What did she do? She fucking giggled and wiggled her bottom.
"You won't find it so funny if I pull these down and spank you," I groused at her, feeling immensely irritated, and indicating what I would pull down with another, somewhat firmer, swat.
"Ooo, big man," she said, still giggling and wiggling her bottom. "You wouldn't dare. I've nothing under them."
Yeah, she just had to tell me that, didn't she? We were standing in front of the car with the car blocking anyone in the street from seeing us. She was standing up at this point, facing me, with a big smirk on her face. I gave her a fulminating look, reached out and flicked open the button at the front of her shorts. I didn't worry about that causing them to fall down as they were too tight to come off by accident.
"You were saying?" I said in a most suggestive tone and she outright laughed.
"Like I said, you wouldn't dare," she scoffed.
I gave her another nasty look and hoicked those hot pants in a southerly direction. She gave a small squeal and her hands very quickly covered her groin, but she didn't stop giggling.
"Now bend over," I told her, speaking softly.
"What?" She sounded surprised.
"I promised a spanking, remember?"
"You wouldn't."
"I believe that's what you said about your shorts," I murmured, the smile now on my face.
