Yesterday I needed to get something at school, but I didn’t feel like driving the car such a short distance (it takes me awhile to do the 20-point turn to get out of our driveway), so Tony agreed to give me a lift on his motorbike. We had just pulled out of our gate (otherwise known as the neighborhood tuk tuk station) when a tuk tuk driver called out and pointed to the motorbike’s flat rear tire. I made the international gesture for “What the hell are we supposed to do now?” and all the tuk tuk drivers pointed to a little stall down the street. As we pushed the bike in that direction, the ladies at the produce stands all clucked in sympathy and waved us toward the “tire repair stall.” There, a guy on a stool took the tube out, patched it and put the tire back together for the equivalent of 60 cents.
When I was making coffee this morning, our gardener, Ae, knocked on the kitchen window (scaring the crap out of me) and called for me to come outside. He made a “pbttttthh” sound and mimed a tire going flat. I popped out to see, and sure enough, it was flat as a pancake. I guess you get what you pay for.
Somehow I understood Ae’s explanation that we shouldn’t have gone to the corner tire repair guy. He offered to take the bike to a proper place to get it fixed, which he did for the whopping price of $1.17.
Ahh the international language of charades and sound effects – love it!
you have a car?
what did I miss?
Ames – We only have a BORROWED car. And only for another day!