Last time I needed to change a tyre, I was three-quarters through the mechanical process, when I realised I didn't have a locking wheelnut and would not be able to do it. I had to phone the AA.
Well down came the hydraulic jack. "You put it in the wrong place mate, coulda crushed your 'and." Away went the shiny never-used wheel brace, and out came the repair man's high-powered hydraulic gizmos. The wheel came off, the spare went on, the car was back on the road faster than it had taken me to wedge the spare tyre out of the boot.
This time, I thought, I have so got this. I unbolted the spare, I found the locking wheelnut, I found the wheel brace and I flexed my hands, ready for the task, like Popeye post-spinach.
I knew it would give me a sense of achievement. I knew it would make me feel manly, strong, super-cool and ultra confident. Some day in the future, when this happens to someone else I'm with, I'd be able to say, "Yeah I've changed a flat, sure" and laugh, "Call the AA? Nah, you don't need to do that mate," I'd definitely throw in a 'mate' there, "Let's have a quick look eh?"
So, I rolled the spare over to the wheel. I clattered the wheel brace and the locking wheelnut onto the concrete, and then I stopped and realised.
I didn't have a jack.
Not much use unless you can raise the car up, is it? I sighed to myself, then reluctantly fished a number out of my wallet. At least the AA should be quick, I guess.
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