driving, events, humor, serial fiction, Stories, truck, writing

Desert Rescue: Anyone for Lunch?

I was ready to rescue! There was a Norwegian family standing on the river bank staring helplessly at their stranded Toyota Landcruiser stuck hard and deep in the Elvire River. We were up in the North-western reaches of the Australian state of Western Australia and they were relying on me to get their rig to safety and save the day so that they could continue their trip around this mighty country of ours.

Sounds exciting doesn’t it? Well to be fair it not really that exciting, sure it’s not an office job and I get to enjoy the great outdoors but like any job it can get tedious.

I could have been an office girl in the city…actually no I couldn’t as much as I rescue strangers from trouble I’m just not a people person. People for the most part annoy me, even you would annoy me if you hang around too long. I guess that’s why I choose to live where I do, interaction with people happens but it’s not in your face for long periods.

Actually maybe life in the office wouldn’t be so bad, just imagine it.

*weird blurry cut away dream sequence*

I’m sitting there on the twelfth floor of a nondescript high rise concrete coffin. I have a rolley chair with five wheels that never lets the thing roll straight and severely hamper the weekly office chair Grand Prix because of the collisions that occur. I’m confined by my three moveable wall partition staring at an empty coffee cup and warming my hands in front of a large screen monitor. There are another hundred people like me, all dressed similar, all going about our day like robots following orders and all with equally uninterested looks on our faces. The only people who look different are the bosses and supervisors, they get paid the big bucks and dress accordingly because syphoning money from the company accounts into their own takes a suit and tie.

The tappity tap tap of keyboard strokes fill the air and for the most part of the day it’s the only sound that can be heard. No one knows or cares what they are typing, except for those answering personal emails and organising dates for Friday night. Occasionally the coffee machine blows a seal and several robots can be heard discussing how life can possibly go on without such an important office tool, but generally the conversation is kept to a minimum in case someone asks an important question like, “What are we doing here.”

The boss walks through the office, nose up in the air, mostly so the robots can’t see the brown stains on the top of it that explain how someone so incompetent managed to get to the top position, and eyes looking down on all. He carries and small lite soy, long black, fluffy, cappuccino, macchiato, frappe in banana flavour with a shot of boysenberry, in a large take away mug. A special order he claims to have created himself which is actually just coffee and milk in a cup with a lid on it, because even the guys that make coffee think he’s a twat. The flurry of keystrokes increases as he walks by in the hope that it urges him to keep walking and not enquire into what the any of the robots are doing.

Then out of the blue comes the call for help.

“DEAN!!!!!!!!” My name rings through the office bouncing off the glass windows that stop us from leaping to our happiness.

I turn in the direction of the voice. Rob The Robot is going bat shit and it’s like there is murder of the twelfth floor!

I push my chair backwards, it runs into the partitioned wall because of the stupid five wheel design, but I don’t have time for that, some one needs me. I bolt across the room only stopping briefly at Nick’s desk to tell him where I am going.

“What the hell is he doing in this dream sequence?”

Leaving Nick’s cubical I head towards the person still screaming my name and as I approach the sound of my name changes to, “Dean we need your help. Frank needs rescuing.”

“What’s the problem?” I ask.

“Frank’s gotten himself stuck in the dunny. He went in twenty minutes ago and hasn’t been seen since. He called my mobile and told me he doesn’t know what happen, there was strange noises for several minutes, then a rumble, then a splash, he tried to ignore it, even tried to compete but he had no hope. Then after five minutes of silence he thought it was safe to leave. Rising from his throne he took one step out of his hiding spot. Then it hit him he couldn’t get out, he was stuck between a wall and the swarming stench of last night’s bourbon, mixed with a late night lamb sandwich (food truck souvlaki for the uneducated) and it’s not his own!” the panicked voice said.

*weird blurry cut back dream sequence*

See I told you I couldn’t be an office person!

So where was I, oh yes, sitting in the Larsen’s four wheel drive about to pull myself out of the water.

As I said before it does sound more exciting than it really is. Because the Beast was secured on the bank and the winch was going to do most of the work all I had to do was feather the throttle of the Landcruiser gently, just enough to get all four wheel moving, (we did lock those hubs in before I started). While I operated the winch with the remote control and it pulled the Toyota forward the slow rotation of all four tyres would help pull it out of the bog hole it was in.

The whole process took about three minutes and because I didn’t try to sink the boot in and drive the Toyota out faster than the winch pulled it I didn’t run the thing up the back end of the Beast. Like I say not as exciting as I sometimes make out, just common sense, brains and a little bit of patience and the job gets done.

Getting out of the Toyota I let the pressure off the winch so I could unhook the cable and was met with a round of applause from the Larsen family. Honestly the appreciation is nice but not always needed in such a big way. As I wound the winch of the Beast in Anders came up to me and thanked me for my efforts and not making a scene over his little mistake. He told me he planned to tell his family about the mistake but he’d wait until I was gone. I told him his secret would be safe with me if he never wanted to tell them but he insisted he would and I believed him he seemed like a genuine enough guy.

Twenty minutes later I was back on the dirt and headed back to Halls for lunch…anyone for a parma with a runny egg on it?

Previous Desert Rescue story here.

2 Comments

  1. Certainly not!

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