Strangely enough when given the ultimatum Frank, or Mr. Beckham as I’d been referring to him as (because he shared a single digit IQ with that Pommie soccer player that married a spice rack), chose not to make sand castles in preference for me pulling his four wheel drive out of the sand. Given how long it was since he’d gotten himself stuck there because of his own stupidity it was a fair and reasonable choice. All I had to do was stop his mouth running and we’d be done.

From that moment on I wouldn’t say I earned any respect from Mr. Beckham, he just wasn’t the sort of guy to offer some one without testicles such a thing, but I did have him listening to me. Of course he didn’t agree with me and everything I wanted to do was wrong but he did stop showing off to his mates and he reluctantly did as I asked.

“Alright Mr…” I caught myself just in time. “Frank, lightly feather the throttle and let the winch do the majority of the work.”

“Yes Miss, if you say so.” I could tell he didn’t agree, not only because he’d gotten himself bogged by being gung ho on the loud pedal but because of the look on his face, but as I said he’d pretty much run out of options.

“If you can’t do it let me know now and I’ll do it myself.” I called out over the engine roar which I’m sure he was revving just to drown me out.

Such a comment may have been a little over the top bitchy and maybe not needed but I was getting sick of being treated like a pair of tits with legs. Not in a million years would I ever think a guy like him would allow a member of the inferior species to drive his car but honestly, even I have limitations and Mr. Beckham had pushed me close to those limitations.

Truthfully since the winch remote was not cabled it would have been easier if I did sit in the driver’s seat and pull the thing out myself. I could have feathered the throttle and used the big baggy tyres to assist the winch as was needed in such a rescue. I would also have felt for myself when those tyres were slipping and backed off the throttle so as not to dig the hole deeper. But even before I started the pull I actually thought Mr. Beckham would show a few brain cells and do as he was asked, even if it was only to help himself. Damnmit another time I was proven wrong!

Mr. Beckham waved a half hearted wave over the steering wheel which I took to mean he was ready to do as I asked. I pushed down the button on the remote and the winch began to take up the slack. I watched as the cable dampener, the small blanket like thing draped over the cable that stops it flinging anywhere if it snaps, raise off the sandy surface. When the cable was tight between the two vehicles I stopped.

“Ready Frank?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just get on with it Babe!”

Such a sweetie isn’t he?”

“Okay Frank lightly on the throttle.”

Typically the first thing Frank did was sink the boat into the accelerator. I don’t know if he was doing it to be a smart arse and suggest he wasn’t just taking orders from a female or if it was a genuine mistake. Given that it’s the sort of mistake all of us have made before I gave the guy the benefit of the doubt, despite him not earning such a right with his prior actions.

Thankfully it appeared Mr. Beckham’s error was just a mistake because when I turned to him and looked directly at his face he backed off.

He backed off a little too much but that was fine, as I have mentioned feathering the throttle is not an easy task. As I gave Frank a slow wind up, using my finger in the air and making slow circles as you might have seen a director do in some of those behind the scenes clips on DVD’s when they want the actor to move faster, Frank actually obeyed.

Slowly the winch pulled the Toyota four wheel drive up the sandy dune its driver had created. Gently Mr. Beckham feathered the throttle and used the big rubber tyres to assist the winch. Slowly that four wheel drive came out of the hole and was sitting on sand firm enough to support it’s weight. All this happened in only forty minutes, okay it should have happened in ten but sometimes morons happen.

Half and hour later Matthew and I were headed home, we’d left Mr. Beckham and his crew safe and sound. They were headed to Halls Creek to replenish supplies and get a few things repaired but if all things went well they wouldn’t get there for a few days and if all things went very well I wouldn’t have to see them.

Not long after we left I told Matthew how close I had come to calling Frank by the nickname I’d made up for him on more than one occasion during the rescue but all Matthew could do was laugh at me. I suppose that’s fair he remembered the day I called one of our school teachers Bent Nose, which was an abbreviated version of the full nick name he’d been given by the students which was Bent Nose Banana Dick. I don’t know who got close enough to that vile little man to know what his dick looked like but he definitely had a bent nose.

“I can’t believe you just let him get away with such bullshit!” Matthew said. “The Dean I grew up with would never have take such crap.”

“Yeah but what can I do? I can’t leave the idiot there, he knew that as well as I did, even if I threatened him with it.”

“You could have charged him an ‘attitude fee’!” Matthew replied.

“Who said I didn’t?”

Previous Desert Rescue story here.