We live almost across the street from a private golf club (no, I am not a member so I yell and shake a fist at whoever may hit a golf ball into our yard). One day earlier in the spring, while raking leaves in the yard, I wiped my brow and hoped that St. Pauli Girl would come out, offer me a beer and tell me to quit for the day. Suddenly I heard a thumping noise as a car came down the road next to the golf course. Someone definitely had a flat tire.
The car slowly veered onto our street and stopped in the middle of the street in front of our house. Now our street is very narrow and appears more like a driveway, but nevertheless it is still a street where cars do go in both directions often times much faster than they should.
I stood and waited for the driver to exit the car. Knowing that chivalry would demand that I offer to help if the driver were female, I prayed for a male driver. Luckily, the driver was a man, an older man, but I judged him fit enough to change the tire by himself. I resumed raking.
Despite the fact that the back tire was flat, he knelt down by the front tire and examined it for some reason. After a few minutes, he went behind the car and opened the trunk. I saw him moving some things around, then he came back and looked at the back flat tire. I felt relieved that I would not have to go down and point out the correct flat tire. He then pulled out his phone and made a call.
"Ah," I thought in relief. "he's calling AAA or a buddy so I don't have to worry about whether or not I should offer to help."
Upon completion of his call, he went back to the trunk where he pulled out his golf clubs which I assumed were blocking his access to the spare tire and jack. Instead, he closed the trunk and stepped onto the grass bordering the golf course. He pulled out some golf clubs and started swinging them to loosen up.
"Interesting," I thought. "I guess maybe he called his friends to have them pick him up on the way to the golf course."
He then grabbed his golf bag and carried it down next to a tree bordering the first fairway. A few minutes later, a golf club worker pulled up in a golf cart. They threw his bag in the back and drove back to the first tee. Apparently, so as not to miss his tee time, he had called the golf club pro shop and asked to have someone come pick him up.
It's quite possible I would have done the same thing except for the part where he parked his car in the middle of our road.
"Whatever," I thought. "Maybe AAA is going to come fix it while he plays golf. At least it's Sunday and there's not much traffic on the road."
But AAA never came. And as darkness settled in, the golfer never came back either. The disabled car remained parked in the middle of the road overnight and through most of Monday as well. I finally noticed at some point Monday night, the car had disappeared.
I tried to decide if he was arrogant or just stupid then realized that was a waste of my own time trying to figure that out. The lesson in retrospect, was that I should have offered to help. He may have declined my offer, but at least when the caddy came up in the golf cart, I could have said, "Woah, woah, woah, buddy. Let's get this car off the road and out of the way before you get to your jolly, jaunty golf game. And whatever you do, don't park it on my lawn!"