In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Comedy of Errors (and bonus assignment!).”
I woke up. First mistake. Then I got up. That was the second. I should have stayed in bed.
We ran a small boat business, my husband and I, and he was away. There were things to be done, people to meet, and my neck ached. It ached badly. I had recently strode down an old wooden jetty searching for a boat, gazing into the distance. I failed to notice a missing plank.
I marched resolutely down the hole. The result was a whiplash injury.
But today I must deliver a message to that same old boatyard. It was a long time ago, and ‘elf-n-safety was different then. Missing altogether. I got into our small black van; windowless except for one at the back, and set off. I eventually drove down the alleyway at the back of the yard, climbed the steps to the office, delivered the note, yarned for a while, and left.
I failed to notice that in my absence a petrol tanker had arrived. It was delivering fuel. The armoured pipe went down a hatch in the ground to underground tanks. They were under the canal path that ran along the back of the sheds.
I walked round the tanker to my parked van. I started the engine, peered painfully round, and reversed. There was a bump and a lurch. Why? My van was at an alarming angle. I got out to investigate and went round the back. I was met with what looked like the Trafalgar Square fountains, but smelling of petrol. I had reversed into the open hatch, splitting the huge fuel pipe.
As I said. I should have stayed in bed.
A man came running towards me – the tanker driver.
‘Turn your engine off, lady!
I hesitated.
‘Just… turn… it… off!’
I wanted to run away, but I went gingerly back to the van and complied. By now the alarm had been raised and I could hear the sirens arriving. I had brought the whole of …….. (I still won’t tell you where,) to a halt. I waited.
The police arrived. Nobody could turn on their engines for fear of fire. The drivers were stuck. I stood on my own, with my bright red handbag. Another mistake, believe me. I could hear the whispers.It was ‘er over there with the red bag!
A policeman approached me. I was looking as near aloof as I could.
‘Did you commit this heinous crime, then? ‘ He asked.
‘Afraid so.’ I said.
‘A thought for you,’ he said. ‘There were no barricades round the hole. If you had been blown sky high, your loved ones would be very rich.’
A happy thought.
I conveyed that message to the tanker driver. He reckoned to have asked repeatedly for barricades that were never provided.
My back hurt now!
I never heard another word about the incident, and I didn’t go looking for trouble.
That was probably another mistake.
Yours ranks pretty high for worst possible day!!! http://judydykstrabrown.com/2015/10/29/the-avid-student-meets-murphys-law/
LikeLike
Thank you Judy. Yes, the adrenalin was definitely flowing!
Myra.
LikeLike
Something tells me that. You are the sport of person who attracts trouble but fear not, it makes great reading for the rest of us!
LikeLike
Well, I thought I had a few bad days but yours takes the biscuit. Not only before ‘elf’n’safety then but before the days when everybody sued everybody. What a pile you might have got! And how was the van?
LikeLike
It was a beaten up van, it hardly noticed! Yes, if it were now I could be still ‘suffering’ from whiplash, and sunning it up in Bermuda when no-one was looking. Nah, I don’t need money, I’ve got piles!
LikeLike