Winter finally came to this desert kingdom when it rained so hard two days ago. It took me almost an hour to drive to work because traffic was so slow due to the rain-soaked roads. Good thing that most motorists took the old warning to heart: “Slippery when wet”. Still, I read in the papers today that there were 37 accidents because of the rain.
I had an accident of sorts on my way home at about 10:00PM, right in the middle of the downpour. My small Peugeot had a flat rear tire. Or, as they normally say here, a puncture (British, y’know). It wasn’t really a dramatic blow-up – just a little by little loss of pressure, enough to add some drag on the right hand side that made the steering heavy. Putting on the emergency flasher, I slowly maneuvered to the roadside shoulder, put on my hat (I always keep one handy in the glove compartment), and got down to have a look. It wasn’t so bad – at least the rim wasn’t on the asphalt yet – but I knew I wouldn’t make it home with a tire like that; I was barely halfway through my 40-kilometer commute. But how could I change it without getting drenched and catching pneumonia? Looking around, I saw that there was an overpass about 300 meters away so I got back in and nursed the car gingerly meter by meter until I got under the bridge. At least, I was thankful that there were bright lights underneath it.
Me and my 206 - in better weather!
I fumbled around in the boot to unloosen the screw that lowered the spare tyre down. Imagine my shock when I saw that it, too, was flat! Why, where, how could this happen? When was the last time I put air on it? Probably never. Then I remembered: some four months back, I changed two tires and used the spare. I told the mechanic to just put the old one back as a temporary replacement thinking that I’d have it changed with a new one later. Apparently, I forgot all about it. So here I was reaping the fruit of my forgetfulness. Stupidity seems more like it.
When people ask me how hot it gets in Kuwait during summer, I always say, “It’s so hot that your balls could fry in the heat.” And during winter, I add, “It gets so cold that your balls could freeze and get stuck to your thighs.” Well, it was cold and with the rain, it felt even colder than the 10 degrees C on the car’s temperature gauge. Luckily, it didn’t get THAT cold yet - at least my thighs were still free to move. But I was in big trouble. How was I to change the damned tire? My phone had ran out of juice earlier so there was no chance of calling for a tow truck, even if I knew one which I didn’t.
As I sat there contemplating my fate, a patrol car came. The policeman asked me what was the trouble so I told him. Come on, he said, take your spare tire and I’ll drive you to the nearest garage. So off we went and and after going around many places, finally found one in Qurain where the Iranian mechanic was just about to close the doors of his shop. The guy couldn’t say no to a cop, of course, so he dutifully went back in, looked over my tire and within minutes had the puncture sealed and the tyre inflated as good as new. Mr. Policeman brought me back to the underpass and asked if I could manage (yes, I said, and thanked him for the help) before he drove off. Well, whaddya know, I thought, cops in this place can be useful sometimes.
Getting stuck in the middle of a downpour due to a puncture is no fun at all
It's been awhile since I last changed a tyre so I got the procedure all wrong. I jacked the car up first forgetting to loosen the nuts so I had to do it all over again. With my grimy hands already wet and slippery the jack slid suddenly, almost chopping off my left thumb in the process. Whew! Easy now, I told myself. After about 15 minutes of tugging and sweating in the cold, I finally got it done and was on my way. But I almost didn't make it home.
Some 100 meters from the house, a cat suddenly jumped right in the middle of the road. Instinctively, I braked so hard the car hydroplaned on a puddle formed by the downpour and barely missed a huge garbage bin. (I thought, what a way to go - kicking the bucket of trash literally!) I also forgot to hit the clutch. The engine died and wouldn’t start for whatever reason. I didn’t bother to find out so I ended up pushing it the last 25 meters or so in the rain. When I walked in through the front door of our flat past midnight, our maid’s eyes popped wide open. What happened to you, she asked, taking in my bedraggled, shivering look as well as my dripping hat, jacket, and shoes. Long, pathetic story, I said.
Ah, when it rains, it surely pours. And I mean trouble. Thank goodness, nothing’s stuck to my thighs, my thumb is still in place and, oh yes, in case you’re wondering, I didn’t run over the cat. As to whether it was a black one or a white one, I can’t remember.
Meanwhile, please pass the coffee quick - I surely need it!
