The Case of the Car(ambolage): Episode 1...

Now it came to pass a couple of months ago that I had to bring some documents for signing to an influential client of ours, Blake and Edwards by name, lawyers by trade. And of all the evil-eyed luck, my car just didn't want to start. Already I was cutting it mighty fine on the time. So, blowing caution to the wind, I rang up the PFY on my cell.

"Do you have a car, PFY?"

"Do I have a car? Do I have a car! Why? Need a lift?"

"Yes. I have to be at Blake and Edwards in twenty minutes."

The PFY's car turned out to be a small, ancient Fiat, smelling of and somewhat resembling a small wet dog. I gingerly opened the car door and squeezed myself into the passenger seat. The chair padding was so well worn, I could almost count the springs in it.

"So how much did you get paid to take this off of the previous owner?" asked I, trying to arrange my limbs so they wouldn't fall asleep in the cramped space.

"Huh? I paid 500 bucks. Once my cousin and I get rid of the rusty spots and repaint it, I'll be able to sell it for a couple of grand. Hobby of mine..."

Oh well, the car seemed safe enough, and except for the lack of space, comfortable enough. So I looked forward to a simple and uneventful ride.

But nooooo!

"Well, it's starting to rain. Mind if I close the window before we drive off?"

"Nope, go ahead," said the PFY getting in on the driver's side.

The window was operated by an old fashioned cranking mechanism. Now I am not exactly a big fellow, but the handle was somewhere beneath my right knee, and no matter what I tried, I just couldn't turn it. So I opened the door, grasped the handle, and started cranking vigorously. And I cranked what seemed to be for ages. And I cranked so hard I was losing my breath and I'm sure a vein was starting to pop on my forehead. And... There was a sound of glass shattering into a million pieces as the window hit the pavement. I had actually turned the window out of the door.

"Ah... PFY, I think there is something wrong with your window crank..."

"Upps, should have told you to keep the door closed. Known issue with this model. No problem, my uncle has a friend whose brother's wife's nephew owns a Fiat garage. I'll get a replacement from him."

"Good. Can we start driving? We have to be at Blake and Edwards in fifteen minutes."

"Right-oh!"

And off we drove, me feeling like a sardine in a milk shake machine. And of course the rain became a torrent. I had the impression I was on the bow of a schooner in hurricane weather, and I wasn't about to shout anything of being the sovereign of the globe either. The PFY's little Fiat gave its all, and managed a good 47 Km/H. Downhill. But in the end, we made it at Blake and Edwards with four minutes to spare, me soaked to the epidermis and shivering.

The documents, though slightly soggy, got signed, the deal successfully closed. And I ended up in bed for five days, with a cold in my head.