A few weeks ago, I had to make a split-second decision that happens to many drivers here in Bangalore... i was traveling at about 40 km/hr when I noticed a brick in the middle of my lane. I could either swerve to my left and hit the autorickshaw next to me (who, by the way was trying to make a three-lane road into a 4-lane road) OR i could just hit the brick. I decided to be antisocial and hit the brick, and voila, a flat tire.
Since my husband is out of town, I call my father-in-law for help. He calls the office boy, who is in the middle of an errand on the other side of town, and tells him to drop everything to come help me.
My FIL told me it might take an hour for the guy to reach me. I’m OK with that because even in the US roadside assistance means a one-hour wait. My daughter is happily sleeping in the car-seat still, so we just sit tight waiting for the office boy.
Now, wouldn’t you figure the office boy would be less than thrilled to have to drop everything and go rescue someone who doesn’t even work for the company?
Thirty minutes later, not one but two office boys show up - the one that can drive and the one that can’t. They are both very concerned about our well-being, whether we got hurt and all that. Once they are sure we are both fine, they’re all smiles, like this is the most wonderful thing that could have happened to them.
But I think I understand their excitement: it’s like when you’re an intern and you boss sends you to buy Powerball tickets when the jackpot is ridiculously high.
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