What A Day! Grrrr….
Kwik Fit?!? I don’t f**k**g think so…….
I am not having a great day.
Over the weekend I discovered that I had a very flat tyre. Now, back in the day I would have simply whipped open the boot, removed the spare tyre and jack, jacked up the car, and, a bit of a huff and a puff later and Bob’ your proverbial – job done and all you need to worry about is getting the spare tyre fixed/replaced at a time that was convenient to both you and the man at Kwik Fit.
But not these days. Modern vehicles are not equipped with spare tyres. Or, at least my might Audi Q5 isn’t. I could have spent extra when I bought he car and had a “collapsible” spare wheel fitted. But I didn’t. I bought the spiel of the salesman who assured me that a) the tyres were virtually indestructible and b) that the “complimentary” tyre repair kit would suffice.
The tyre repair kit consists of some noxious chemical in a squeezey container – marked “Death” – and a compressor that you plug into your cigarette lighter.
Fortunately, my brother-in-law to be (he who survived the Taliban suicide bomber and never stops talking about it) was over on Sunday. He is car mad and I managed to persuade him that he would be doing me a great favour if he helped me with the job of repairing the car. This meant that he took responsibility for handling the bottle of death and all the mucky and dirty stuff, while I read the instruction manual. It also meant that my estate could sue him in the event that the wheel fell off and I was killed in a horrible high-speed traffic incident.
The noxious tyre weld chemical seemed to work. At least my willing worker was able to inflate the tyre to the required pressure and it passed the compulsory “kicking the tyre test” to my satisfaction. But, we also found the cause of the puncture – a bolt the size of my thumb (which is a big and manly thumb) was still embedded. So, I was not confident that the weld would hold.
And so, it was a rather anxious Middle Man that set off on his forty minute drive through leafy Cheshire backwaters first thing this morning en route to Wilmslow and the delights of Kwik Fit. It was a tentative drive as the bolt resulted in a rapid tut, tut, tut as it contacted with the road surface on every revolution. I stopped four times to kick the tyre to make sure that it was safe to proceed and, eventually, made it safely to Kwik Fit just as they were opening their doors.
Now, bear in mind that I had phoned them on Saturday to check that it would be OK to turn up on spec and they had assured me that they would be able to sort me there and then and get me on my way in no time. But, things seem to have changed by Monday morning. Now they were recommending that all four tyres be replaced and they informed me that they were not carrying the tyres in stock (as if the Audi Q5 is a rare species in Cheshire for chrissake) and they would have to order them in……..Grrrrrr……..
But, they assured me that they would get the tyres before noon and would put two men on it straight away and get me on my way within half an hour. Which gave me just four hours to kill…….Grrrrrr………
And so, I went and got my haircut in the footballers barbers of choice – Flanagans of Wilmslow – sat next to a guy bemoaning that his latest Porsche was a waste of time as he had only done a thousand miles in it since October. I then went and got my eyes tested – I had been finding it harder to harder to read the Trivial Pursuit questions during the Christmas festivities – and sure enough I am in need of spectacles to help me with my “near fatigue work”, whatever that is. And, I froze my nuts off sat outside Starbucks while on a teleconference at work and nursing an ever-chilling vanilla latte. How Cheshire!
Well, it was now twelve thirty and so I grabbed a Greggs’ meat and potato slice to warm my hands and improve my mood and wandered back to Kwik Fit.
My tyres had not arrived. They phoned to chase them. The people that they chased could not commit to a delivery time, but, it would be “today”. Grrrr…….
I sat in Kwik Fit for thirty minutes just to get warm. Still no sign of my tyres. And so after a quick couple of calls I headed back into Wilmslow to console myself with a Greggs’ steak bake before heading off to peruse the shelves of Waterstones. And now I find myself sitting in Caffe Nero, for a scenic change, surrounded by ladies who are lunching and suits who are trying to look both clever and important. And, I am waiting to hear from Kwik Fit that my tyres have arrived. Grrrrr……..
It’s now 3.30pm and I’m back at Kwik Fit having had my fill of the “joys” of Wilmslow and having consumed a gallon or two of latte. Grrrrrr …….. The bloody tyres have still not arrived. But, I assured that they are imminent and they have already removed my old tyres and have a “team of lads” on stand by. I am assured that it is going to be like a Formula One pit stop – but to be fair, their assurances are wearing a tad thin by now……Grrrrrr……
3.38pm and the tyres arrived and a full thirty minutes later, having paid off the equivalent of the national debt of Portugal, I was on my way……..
Kwik Fit, my arse!