The Case of the Car(ambolage): Episode 2...

My previous adventure with the PFY's car should have taught me never again to use the PFY as a taxi. But last Friday, my poor jalopy again refused to show any sign of life. A cell phone call to the PFY:

"PFY, do you still drive that open air FIAT?"

"Of course not! I got a Honda Civic now! Well, actually it's not mine..."

"Ah, so it isn't a wreck, or special pop-apart model, or has a sunroof that doesn't close? Because it looks like rain again today."

"No, it's last year's model. Almost brand new! Friend of my cousin wants me and my cousin to upgrade it a bit."

And indeed, a nicer Honda Civic I haven't seen in a long time. Wide tires, a paintjob that would make Mona Lisa peal with jealousy, and the inside had been designed on the lines of the Titanic's main sump room. All polished wood and subtle colours. I got in on the passenger side and made myself at home in the perfectly moulded seat. Ah, I was going to enjoy this ride, I was!

But noooooo!

The PFY got in on the driver's side.

"We already started upgrading. We put in five point seatbelts. Automated five point seatbelts! Here, lemme show you!" said the PFY as he started up the engine.

And indeed, servos started humming in the chair. Two parts of the seatbelt appeared from above my shoulder and two parts from the sides. From the bottom of the seat the fifth piece came out and up, and connected with the other four belt pieced, snapping into place on my chest. Then the belt slowly tightened until I was perfectly snug in my seat, and couldn't have shifted an inch if I had wanted to.

The Honda's engine, a 6V with over 360 horsepower, purred to life. And off we went, as smoothly as if we were driving on air.

We arrived without incident. The PFY shut the engine off and jumped out.

"Ah, PFY... My belt... How do you open it? I don't see any buttons..."

"Sorry! That belt should have opened automatically when I turned off the engine... Hm... One sec..."

The PFY started the engine again. My belt didn't open. Instead, I felt the belt slowly getting tighter.

"Um, PFY, I think you might want to stop the engine, this blasted belt is trying to suffocate me."

The PFY turned off the engine, but the belt didn't stop squeezing me.

"Urgk.. Cut the power... Argh!"

"Right boss, I'll just pull the fuse... There. That better?"

"Well, your death trap has stopped trying to make juice out of me, but otherwise, I'm stuck. And I forgot my pocket knife today."

I knew the PFY didn't carry a knife with him, him being the sort of fellow that cuts himself on the business end of a toddler-safe plastic spoon. So I just had to wait for some aid from someone with a seat belt cutting implement.

"Well, at least I can still breath. A bit. Now be a good PFY and get either Blake or Edwards down here to sign the contract. And stop snickering."

Blake, the senior of the two, appeared after ten minutes, signed the contract, I signed it, and the PFY witnessed it. And all that time Blake didn't even crack a little smile at my predicament. Which just adds to the proof that lawyers aren't quite human.

So I was stuck in that chair, prisoner of an overzealous seatbelt, with most the air squeezed out of me, for over three hours. We couldn't drive back to the office because the fuse the PFY pulled was the main one, without which he couldn't start the engine. Go figure.

The secretary of Blake and Edwards came down with her scissors, but they couldn't even dent the seatbelt. Then a passer-by, whom the PFY slightly knew, tried his Leatherman(TM) knife. No chance, even with the saw; that belt was just too strong.

Finally, just as I was attempting to pick the belt's lock for the trillionth's time with the PFY's debit card, a police officer, giving out parking tickets, came by. She inspected the parking meter.

"You realize there is a parking meter here?"

"Ah, yes, my dear officer. We've run out of coins, and I'm afraid we can't drive off. I'm stuck in this seatbelt, and quite uncomfortably, I must add. If the PFY puts the fuse back in, I'll be choked to death. Automatic seat belt, you see, on the blink..."

"Oh, one of those. Look, I always carry a Spyderco Harpy(TM) with me. Great knife to cut seatbelts with. Here let me..." said the police officer. She leaned in and with four quick slices, freed me from my prison.

"There, that didn't hurt, did it now? Still have to give you a ticket, I'm afraid."

"Quite fair, isn't it, my dear PFY? The law is the law, and no-one should be above it," said I, stretching and trying to get some blood back into my legs.

"Eh, but it's not my fault you got stuck! I'm going to get the company to pay this!"

I took the bus back to the office, doing deep breathing exercises all the way. After all, you're not allowed to drive around without wearing a seatbelt!

The company didn't pay the PFY's ticket; our accountant pointed out that the PFY had installed the deadly seatbelt himself. Thus the whole business was the PFY's fault; he had to pay his ticket himself. And I got the police officer's mobile phone number; I've invited her for dinner at my favourite Italian. Ah, justice has been served, and the downtrodden (or in my case, the seat-belted) has been rewarded!