Tow trucks and other fiascos

Remember the assessment that was going to be done "definitely today" on the Cream Puff?


When I hadn't heard anything by 4.30pm I called the repairer/assessor to find out what was going on. I spoke to Nancy at the auto body shop, told her the sob story about how I was stuck in Godknowswhere, Montana until I had some definitive word about the fate of the cream puff and asked where they were up to. She rummaged around in some papers for a while then asked if I was sure I had the right company because they didn't have my vehicle.


You know how sometimes your brain simply refuses to process unwanted information for a moment? This was one of those moments. There was a long silence. My brain started up again. "It was being delivered first thing this morning by **** Towing. I spoke to **** (the owner of **** Towing) yesterday and he assured me it would be there first thing."


Nancy, who is a very nice lady, said she would call **** Towing, find out where the car was and let me know asap.


Ten minutes went by during which I ground down my molars by about 15%. Nancy called me back. "I just spoke to **** from **** Towing and he's very sorry, but he got very busy and didn't deliver the car. It's on its way now. He apologised profusely to me and admitted that he'd dropped the ball. So it will be here tonight, but I can't guarantee I'll have anyone here to assess it this late."


There was another long silence. I had now spent two days twiddling my thumbs and checking my watch in a place that I never planned to stay more than two hours. I was not only no closer to having the cream puff back on the road, I still didn't have any idea how long it would take. My road trip was in ruins and the possibility that it would ever recover seemed to be getting more remote with every incompetent idiot I encountered. I was supposed to pick Dad and Patricia up at an airport in Minnesota, halfway around the country, in just a few days time and I had no idea when I would even get out of this hotel room!


There was a very authentic wobble in my voice when I spoke again. "Thank you Nancy, for all your help. This is a catastrophe. Please do the assessment as quickly as possible and let me know as soon as you have any more information."


Now Nancy is a kind soul, probably about the same age as my Mum. She recognised the sound of filling tear ducts down a telephone line and sprang into action. She assured me there was a team meeting first thing in the morning and she would put my file directly into the hands of an assessor at that meeting. I blubbered more thanks, then hung up.


For about a minute I stood perfectly still, raging impotently in the middle of my dodgy hotel room carpet. If %!-@ from &^#$ Towing ever met me in a dark alley, I vowed, only one of us would come out alive. If only I had hit him with my Volvo instead of poor stupid, innocent Bambi.


My fury passed quickly. I had already been through denial and anger. I skipped bargaining and depression and went straight to acceptance. There are many worse places I could be stuck than Missoula, Montana. My new friends have taken such good care of me here that I have absolutely no right to complain and I believe Nancy will follow through on her promise to push my case. There is nothing left to do but gracefully embrace my fate, hire a car for however long the cream puff will be out of commission and salvage whatever I can of my road trip.

In the meantime, there is nothing to do but enjoy a third night out on the town in Missoula with my delightful new chums Ducati Kevin and Soccer Stan.