Random Shit

Testosterone Tuesday

So I woke up today after having stolen a few more minutes of sleep, to a flat tire.  A screw had been wedged in the right-rear tire some weeks earlier and I had decided to leave it since it hadn’t done much deflating.  All I knew is that if I continued taking it easy it should last until I really needed a patch job done.

It was only this past weekend, the 27th of November that I started noticing the drop in tire pressure, but again I told myself, “Take it easy”.  And by the grace of “Cindy”, the name I had decided to give to her some years back when we were still getting acquainted; all was good… that is, until this morning.

As I was calling to the security guard to come and open the gate for me, he informed me, with a slight grin on his face that my tire was flat. He was not grinning because of the tire, he was more relieved that I didn’t have to take him away from the conversation he seemed to be enjoying. Adding to that, I had lost my tag for the gate about a month ago and ever since had to ask whichever guard was there to open and close the gate for me. This was becoming a bother… for them.

It was a matter of time before this happened, and lucky for me it didn’t happen while I was on the road, travelling at 100 km/h, typing on my blackberry as a taxi driver forcefully squeezed his way in between myself and a car that had a baby in the back seat. A bit dramatic I know, but like I said, lucky for me. So with a calm strut, I walked over to my car.

First things first, find the “jack” and the tools that come with it.  Next, figure out the best place to put it so that nothing is bent or broken. At which point it occurred to me that I had better change my shirt for this, I was going to work after all. So I went back to my flat after having assessed the situation. I changed into my black sleeveless vest which revealed the wolf tattoo on my left shoulder that is accompanied by the claw-like scar I got a year or so after, that looks like was given to me by the wolf in an attempt to outrun it. And on the other side, the tribal dragon tattoo on my right shoulder-blade. Afterwards I tied my hair back, put on my shades and grabbed my toolbox; it was action time.  My walk had never been so tall; though it did help that there a few people outside, mostly women, giving the more than occasional glance at what I was about to do.

After I began jacking up the car I knew exactly what had to be done and in what order of events. I knew which tools were in the toolbox and which one I would use next. With every turn of the wheel spanner my exposed muscles would bulge; and the longer I was out there, the thicker the glaze of sweat on my face, chest and arms became.  Oh yeah!! I was feeling REAL manly now!  I set down the car after about 20 minutes of unscrewing, lifting and screwing back on again, only to lift my head to see that the huge imaginary crowd I had built up in my head was non-existent, but after my half a second of reaction which could not be seen through my sunglasses, it didn’t matter. I dusted off my hands, and packed my tools away with a great sense of accomplishment. If it was an advert the tagline would simply read, “It’s good to be a man.”

– Call me Dizzle

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