There is an expression that goes, “Fuck you. AND the white horse you rode in on.” A friend of mine, M, has shortened this simply to “And your white horse” whenever he wants to be subtly insulting but not profane.
Tuesday night, the horse i rode to the bridge game (my car) died. I had played with M, and we’d had a decent game and a good time. The game was over; i chatted with the director for awhile, then went into The BrickHouse where four bridge friends, including M, were having a drink. I greeted them briefly, then left. It was just after 11 pm.
Unfortunately, my car would not start. It was snowing and sleeting and raining and my car would not start. My first thought was that i needed a jump. It was cold, and my car is getting up in years, maybe it just needed an extra boost(?) My dad prepared me for the two most common car problems, so i know how to a) change a tire and b) jump a car. And i always have jumper cables with me. All i need is one of my bridge friends to help me out.
I went back into the bar where i had just said goodbye to these four people. All men, ages 50-60. All four are people i have played bridge with or attended dinner parties with, so we’re on good terms. Three of them are self-important and always have the answer to anything. Two of them like to flirt with me. Honestly, i thought they might fight over who got to help me. Boy, was i wrong.
“Hi again. My car won’t start. I have jumper cables. Would one of you be able to give me a jump?”
A few seconds of silence, then M said he could help but his battery was under his back seat and we’d have to take it out his whole back seat so it would be easier if someone else did it. Two of the other guys mumbled about where their batteries were located on their cars (one was near the front tire, the other in the trunk). The fourth guy said nothing. Then ensued a conversation about where car-makers are putting batteries and why, while i stood idly by, listening in semi-disbelief. None of them made the slightest move to get up from their chairs.
Really?!?? None of you great men of the world, you bastions of bridge, you, who think so well of yourselves, NONE of you wants to rise to this occasion? No one wants to be the hero, to save the damsel in distress?
Here’s a little something about me – i hate being the damsel in distress. I don’t like feeling helpless and unable to fix things myself. I don’t like having to depend on the goodwill of others, or being a burden to others. So i try to be self-sufficient most of the time. That said, the times i do find myself needing help, i can accept it and be gracious and thankful.
I wonder how they would feel if their wives needed this kind of assistance and were refused? I guarantee they would feel protective and indignant. I wonder if their batteries would be so hard to get to if they were the ones in need of a jump?
I think about how Lance would react to anyone, even a stranger, if he were asked to help in this situation – he would do it without hesitation, and he would wait around to make sure the person was safe. I think about my Dad and my brothers, who would have been rising from the table as soon as i said “the car won’t start” to see if they could help. I think about the complete stranger who changed my tire in the middle of the night.
I went back to the bridge room, where the director was finishing up. He was the only person left. I asked him if he could help me and he readily agreed. As we were walking out, M came to follow and stand out in the cold and snow and sleet with us.
Unfortunately, jumping the car didn’t work. I ended up leaving it there overnight, while M took me home. So M ended up being a knight in shining armor even though he didn’t initially volunteer.
I’m not sure what to think, exactly. If i had really, really needed help, surely one of them would have helped me… right? But where is the line between when i asked for help and really really needing it?
Tags: life
Last year’s race was cold and rainy and miserable. This year it was perfect.
I like shoes. I have more than i need. I’m sure this isn’t a unique trait among women. Or men, for that matter.