Why I Don't Do Lunches Part 2

This is an unexpected sequel to the original post.

I was to meet Dad for lunch after running some errands for him. He asked me to drive his Peugeot 406 to pick him up as he complained that my car's air con is not cold. I am more than willing to, so at 12pm I drove in to his office.

He took the wheels and picked up two more of his acquaintences, one a remisier and another a banker. We had lunch at an old coffee shop in town, and just as we left it started raining heavily. It has been a cloudy and rainy weekend, and I'm quite thankful for the cooling effect it has on the temperature. At any rate, we headed back to the bank where my father's friend worked coz he had some banking to do. He parked at a nearby parking lot, and he completed his things.

We (Dad, his other friend, and I) went back to our car. It was still drizzling then, so the three of us huddled under a single large umbrella. We went in the car and Dad started the engine. Well, at least, he *tried*. All the car gave was a heaving puff before dying. The car won't start.

In the middle of the rain.

Dad called on his banker friend to drive his car around to jump start the battery as a dead battery is usually the problem. But it isn't, as now the car didn't even bother to heave and puff even with the battery wired up. With things looking bleaker (both figuratively and literally), Dad called on his mechanic. The mechanic was still having lunch so we had to wait in a nearby coffeeshop till 3pm. In the meantime, the banker sent the remisier back to his office as the stock market is about to resume. To keep myself occupied I read today's copy of The Sun from cover to cover while Dad planned the rescue operation. Even in that state of distress, I managed to spot a few interesting things in The Sun, and I'll write about that in the next post.

Anyway, the final plan was to ask his banker friend to take him back to his office, where he'll drive the company car and pick up the mechanic. He did that, and after looking through the engine, the mechanic deduced that it is probably caused by a faulty starter. This happened before, and there is no choice but to tow the car back to the workshop. Dad then sent me back home, and by the time I entered my room it was almost 4pm. The Peugeot is probably still at the parking lot right now.

Dad must be pretty frustrated right now at the recent turn of events, but he remained quite calm with me (but not the mechanic). For my part, I didn't pester my father and just went along with what he said. I kept very quiet and just tried to read the newspaper, never once offering my opinion of what he should do. In hindsight, it was quite good that it rained. Although I got slightly soaked, I prefer being soaked with rain than soaked with sweat, which is what might happen if it were a sunny afternoon.