Sometimes I think the gods have a wicked sense of humour.
Like getting sick on the weekend, or losing your car keys in a couch cushion at a restaurant and having to walk back there at 10pm at night because it’s the only plausible place they could have dropped while frantically scouring the road with cellphone lights just in case they did a break to freedom on the dark, muddy street (this actually happened in Dullstroom over New Year’s). You get my point.
The latest bad joke was on Friday.
A co-worker, Mini’s, battery died, and since we were the only two left in the office, she asked me to go downstairs and jump start her car. I’d just written an article on jump-starting, so was mildly confident and remembered vaguely what needed to happen: cables. Cars. Etc.
I moved my car, window’s down (with the incredible heat on Friday) and jumped out to push her car in place so I could get in the right position in the crowded parking lot. Then I hopped in my car. And it wouldn’t start.
No choking sound, no lights came on, no noises at all, and the windows were rolled down – in a parking lot at work. And my AA membership had just expired. My boyfriend’s phone had died. My dad was in the USA. My step-dad was in Pretoria. I had no idea what to do.
Luckily, someone else jump started my co-worker’s car.
And after they’d finished, they rolled Mini’s car over to me and said, let’s just give a jump start a try. I was extremely skeptical but also extremely desperate, and let the friendly guy hook my car up to Mini’s with all the cables. After a few minutes, I started the engine, and instead of an eery silence, it made a chocking sound and then the engine started running!
So instead of me starting Mini’s car, she started mine. And that, my friends, is irony. And a really bad joke.