Better Late Than Never

The afternoon had heated up well beyond what the weather man had said it would. I don't know why I pay so much attention to it except maybe to complain to anyone who'll listen. The call came in around two in the afternoon and I was heading up highway 32 to meet it. It was flat tire and we have two options with those; change the tire or tow the car. It had been a busy morning so I figured a quick tire change would be better for me.
I like driving in the desert. The feeling of reaching into the horizon, stretched tight across the windshield as the truck kicks up a wall of dust makes retreat impossible. The world is one way only and I've got the accelerator almost to the floor. Ahead, the view is as clear as it gets and behind me the mistakes I've made are out of sight. I like that feeling.
I could see it, the Mercedes, lying cock-eyed on the shoulder and wondered why the engine was still running. As I pulled up I realized it was because the driver had barricaded himself in with the air conditioning on. He waited until I had positioned the truck in front of him and waited more until I walked down the driver's side and, finally, he stuck his head out as the window came down.
The dry vacuum of the desert sucked the cool air out of the car in a rush but still he didn't get out. I asked him if he had a spare and he told me he had no idea, that he had to be in Braeside at four and could I make it quick.
The rest of my afternoon was what I call fun. I fussed and farted back and forth while he sat in his car until finally I told him he'd have to get out and ride in the cab with me. As three o'clock crept up I put the truck in gear and began the slow crawl towards Braeside. He sat beside me, saying nothing, while I called on the years I had spent in Lister to fabricate a fantastic tale of lechery and abuse and generally scare the crap out of him. He fidgeted with his briefcase clasps and looked at his cell phone, wishing for a signal, while I dug deep to recall every sordid story I had picked up at the end of the bar in the Grace Hotel.
I don't consider myself a cruel man, just one with a ribald sense of humour. I get a kick out of seeing people uncomfortable in their own skin, and all the while I wonder how they'll every survive. This guy obviously had no contingency plan for life. He was lost the moment he drifted across the road and landed on the shoulder. Lost but not beyond hope.
When we pulled into Braeside, around four fifteen, he was frantic and called a cab the second he got a signal. It only took Dave ten minutes to change the tire and I suppose I could have done the same back there in the desert, but what the hell, a man needs to be late every now and again. It also reminds us that perspective doesn't come cheap.