Late Sunday morning, PG announces that he has to change the tires on his car. He’s just purchased new ones that are to be used mainly on the race track, and since he has a track day coming up this week, he wants to put them on today because he has time.
“Time? Today?” I say. “I thought we were going shopping.”
He insists that it will only take him twenty minutes, tops, to change the tires, so there will be plenty of time to head downtown afterward.
I dubiously agree.
I think I’ve mentioned this before, but in case I haven’t, PG and his brother-in-law jointly own a warehouse. Both of them keep all kinds of crap – I mean, useful things there. PG keeps his hobby car, all his car parts, all his tools there. His new tires are also there. So, we must go to the warehouse for him to change his tires, and from there, we will go shopping.
PG starts shuffling around. “Where are my warehouse keys?”
I don’t even know what they look like, so I don’t help hunt. I stand at the door of the apartment and wait.
He looks around some more, then shrugs. “I must have left them in the car.”
We go down to his car. He hunts all over the car. I ask him what they look like so I can help him. “Keys,” he informs me. “They’re just keys.”
We spend fifteen minutes looking all through the car for these keys. Finally, he goes back upstairs, muttering darkly something about the keys having to be in the apartment then.
I wait in the carpark. Fifteen more minutes pass. PG returns. With no keys. He decides that we’ll go to the warehouse anyway. Why, I don’t know. We can’t get in.
At the warehouse, the two of us search the car one more time. To no avail. Just then, PG’s brother-in-law drives up. He’s come to do some work at the warehouse too, but he at least has his keys. So PG gets in, collects his tires and the tools he needs to change them. I go for a walk, promising to be back within the twenty minutes that he reassures me the changeover will take.
I am back in thirty minutes. PG has, in fact, changed his tires. But he has not yet put anything away. He is standing there talking to his sister, who has come to help her husband. We chat for another twenty minutes or so. His sister invites us for dinner later. We accept. PG now puts the old tires and his tools away in the warehouse.
Back in the car, he suddenly remembers, “I recorded the F1 race. We’d better watch it now if we’re going to my sister’s for dinner later.”
Oh. Although I do like watching F1, that wasn’t exactly what I thought I’d be doing Sunday afternoon. But we do start to watch it. He has a beer. I have a glass of wine. I fall asleep. I wake up after five o’clock, having missed most of the two-hour race. It’s time to head over to PG’s sister and brother-in-law’s house for dinner.
First, though, I want to quickly check my work email. While I am doing this, PG starts to clean up a bit. He pulls out a dining table chair on which he has previously piled some magazines and papers, to put them away properly. On the top of the pile are his warehouse keys.
“Oh, here’s the warehouse keys,” he says cheerily, tossing them on the table beside me.
I drop my head to the computer keyboard with a loud thunk.