Tuesday 25 August 2015

The Check-up

Fox and Polo travelled in convoy on the road to Mullingar. Anzo was ahead in Fox; she flashed her hazard lights as she turned into the Applegreen garage, I drove in behind her. It didn’t take a genius to work out what she wanted. I rolled down my window,
            'I need a coffee fix,' she gasped.
'Say no more Drama Queen' I giggled.
With two coffees to go we continued our journey. We drove into a large industrial estate. A sign directed us to a big grey warehouse. We parked-up.
Anzo was glued to her iPhone as usual; she jumped when a man in blue overalls tapped on her window.
'You're next love,' he said.
 Flustered, she leapt out of her car; laptop, iPhone, cup of coffee flying everywhere. She patted Fox on the bonnet as she passed.
            'You’ll be fine bud; I’ll be waiting for you.'
She gestured for me to go with her. We entered through a luminous green door, into a sterile room with white walls and metal seats.
Anzo skulked to the counter. The clock opposite her struck 9am.
            'Sorry I’m late, I thought my appointment was 9.10, not 8.10,' she said apologetically.
'It's alright love; can I have your driving licence please?' The man said with a cheeky smile.
Anzo's good looks and charm got her out of many a bind.
She emptied the contents of her bag; loose change, pens, elastic bands spilled out; no sign of her licence.
                        'I’ll have to check my car, I’ll be back in a minute, sorry.'
Five minutes later she strolled in, licence in hand. I shook my head,
'What am I going to do with you, you’re a nightmare,' I laughed.
            She handed over her licence. The man looked at her with amusement.
'Go easy on Fox, she’s been through the mill,' she said.
            'Don’t worry love, we’ve seen worse,' he joked.
            A keen social media guru, Anzo took a photo of her little Fox on the forecourt, she posted,
'Say a prayer for my beep, beep.'
            'Mam, Fox is remarkably clean and shiny.' Its nice elegant body gleamed,
'No thanks to you,' I murmured under my breath.
In the small hours of the night before, she bribed her nephew to clean Fox. He disposed of the endless empty coffee cups, chocolate wrappers, pistachio nutshells and small change before polishing Fox up for her big day.
I observed Anzo with pleasure as she paced up and down. She was wearing gold flip-flops, revealing her flaming orange toenails, a multi-coloured Superdry sweatshirt topped off with a pair of sunglasses; essential for the cloudy, rainy day, of course! 
She paced back and forth until the man behind the desk finally called out her name,
            'I'm afraid she didn't make it', he said.
            'Is it bad?' she asked apprehensively.
'Break imbalance was 81%; it can’t go above 50%.' 
'Exhaust emission was 0.43; it can't go above 0.20.'
 'There was no water in the wipers; we’ll let you away with that, need I go on?' he said.
'Okay, so that's not good, poor little Fox,' she said.
The mechanic reassured her that Fox would make it next time.
In true Anzo style, she put a sad selfie on social media with the caption,
'Poor beep, beep failed.'
'Never mind Fox, I still love you,' she said
Next it was my turn; I was so busy laughing that I didn’t hear my name. The man called me a second time. He asked me for my keys. Like mother, like daughter, I couldn’t find them!
This time the joke was on me as I emptied my bag; pens, loose change, hair brush. No sign of my keys. In a state of panic, I lifted my bag for a final time; my keys winked up at me from my seat.
'Ha, ha', Anzo laughed.
            She then took a photo of Polo and posted it with the caption,
            'I hope you fail Polo.'
Polo was put through its paces,
            'I bet you have no water in your wipers', Anzo sniggered.
            'I look after Polo, unlike a certain someone'.
My quiet confidence irritated Anzo. My name was called. I made my way to the desk with a smug look on my face. I returned waiving a yellow NCT Certificate in the air.
            'You passed, you little wagon.' Anzo grunted.
'Don’t you mean Volkswagen?' I said.
Anzo took a photo of me, cert in hand. The caption read,
 'Polo passed; better luck next time Fox.'
 
Words 748

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