The Ugly Duckling

A weeks ago, my car was broken, my passenger door lock was jimmied and my GPS was stolen.  It was tragic and I felt violated.  Why me?  How dare they?  

To make matters worse, I experienced the joys of liasing between a mechanic and a bureaucratic insurance company.  Finally on Friday, the insurance company settled the payment and my mechanic began work on the remnants of my car lock and handle.  I was elated.

But, I needed a car to get to work.  Fortunately, there was a car rental yard next door.  The name of this place was the Ugly Duckling (this should have my first warning).  This business establishment comprised of one shack and five or six random cars.  I drove away with a white, 8 cylinder, manual Ford Falcon and I was thrilled at the power.  After all, I have only been driving a small Hyundai Excel.  As I was cruising to work, an emergency light flashed on the dashboard and the temperature gauge soared through the roof.  This could not be good.  So, I rang the owner fo the Ugly Duckling and he asked that I turn around and bring the car back.  As I drove back into the yard, smoke began to pour out of the front of the Falcon; as the owner of the Ugly Duckling watched; as potential customers looked.  (This was not great advertising)  So, the owner quickly apologised for the inconvenience and gave me another car at no cost.  

Let us pause and consider my situation.  By now, I am late for work and have driven an overheated car at potential risk of arrest or even death.

The next car was a light brown, rusted, manual Datsun 400 King Cab ute or pickup truck.  I was less elated.  It was a vast improvement in that I survived the trek to work, except the rain seeped through the rusted roof (mild inconvenience).  So after finally arriving at work, I parked my dilapidated hired truck next to the executive cars owned by my managers.  

Let us once again consider my situation.  I am two hours late for work, wet from the rain; having driven a rust bucket.

Well, the next morning I returned my hired pickup truck to the Ugly Duckling fifteen minutes after nine am.  The owner was upset because he was supposed to close at nine am.  Who closes their business at nine am on a Saturday morning?   Apparently, he was annoyed because the white Ford Falcon overheated and the alternator belt broke and the cost to fix it was high; as if it were my fault.  So, he charged me ten dollars for the petrol and that was the end of my dealing with the Ugly Duckling.   

So, the Ugly Duckling will never become a beautiful Swan.