Actually that makes it sound like I was peeing in the vehicle doesn’t it? I meant “golden” as in expensive not as in urine.
Anyway.
As I’m standing there filling the beast, across the road from the forecourt I see a guy on a bicycle coming towards me.
Ordinarily this would not provoke any reaction but this fellow is a little different.
For starters he’s riding one-handed, without a helmet, and he’s looking down at his phone as he approaches. I presume he’s texting.
I’m jolted into sharp focus by the blast of a car horn as the cyclist weaves across two lanes of traffic, completely oblivious to his surroundings.
The guy at the bowser next to me calls out to him: “Watch out mate!”
No response.
And as I complete my filling task the cyclist rolls closer. Still head down. Texting. Right across the forecourt. And then the inevitable happens.
He hits my ute.
I’m just able to shout a “whoah!” as he rolls closer but it’s too late. Bike, rider and phone crash to the concrete forecourt in a startled heap.
Then the fun starts. Well, not really “fun”. More unbelievable and irrational indignation. From the cyclist.
He’s sitting on the ground shouting at me and demanding to know what I was doing.
Somewhat bemused at his reaction I look over at the aforementioned bloke at the next bowser. He’s equally surprised at the accusatory tone with which the cyclist has fired off at me.
“Er, I’m parked here filling my car. What were you doing?” I replied, trying not to sound sarcastic. I mean you never know these days do you? He could be on something.
His next comment led me to the conclusion he was perfectly sober and coherent. Just a bit of a dickhead really.
“Well, that’s a stupid place to park,” he shouted.
“Mate, I’m at the service station filling my car,” I said somewhat incredulously. “You just smacked into me.”
At that point the cyclist, starting to get up, took a look around. Judging by the look of realisation crawling across his face, I was left with the impression he knew he was in the wrong.
Apparently not.
“You should have been on the other side,” he said, pointing to the opposite side of the bowser which was empty, and now getting a bit angry. It didn’t help that the other guy who was still standing there watching started to laugh.
“Mate, you just drove across the road and nearly got wiped out and then you hit him,” he offered.
‘I did not,” the cyclist responded.
Me and the other guy just looked at each other. I mean how do you respond to that sort of denial, particularly in the face of such concrete evidence.
I figured the best thing to do was to let it go so I went forward to see if the fellow was hurt.
He seemed to be okay but the wheel on his bike was a bit buckled.
“Who’s going to pay for that?,” he asked, his voice getting agitated, as he checked out the damage.
By this stage I knew I was on a hiding to nothing. Perhaps it was Christmas stress, I don’t know, but it was pretty obvious anything I said wasn’t going to be well received so I decided to go inside the servo, grab a coffee and just make sure staff inside knew what was happening.
A part of me thought it might also be prudent to just get them to record the time so they could access any forecourt cameras if this thing got silly, if you know what I mean.
If it’s possible to get sillier than it already was.
Anyway. As I’m inside the other motorist is outside talking to the cyclist. As other patrons come and go and the door opens and closes I can hear words like “negligence” and “irresponsible” being shouted.
Eventually the other motorist gave up and drove off, leaving the cyclist trying to bend his buckled wheel back into shape.
Then he discovers his phone is damaged and waves it angrily at me through the servo window. I can’t make out exactly what he said but by the look of it he wants me to pay for that too.
Eventually I’ve got my coffee and I go back out to the car.
Sure enough. He’s telling me I damaged his phone too.
At this stage I’m thinking it’s best to draw proceedings to a close and leave.
In hindsight I’m not actually sure whether that was the correct course of action. Maybe I should have called the police or something.
Having said that, when I run through it again, it all seems so ridiculous.
I mean, I’m standing there minding my own business at a service station and a guy riding a bicycle completely absentmindedly comes across two lanes of traffic, through a petrol station forecourt and smacks into the bumper of my car – which wasn’t damaged by the way – and he’s claiming I am in the wrong.
Regardless, I gave him my business card and said he could talk to his insurance company if he wanted to.
He responded by throwing my card on the ground.
Then, as I drove off slowly, he kicked my rear tyre. I watched him do it in my side mirror.
Luckily, I also saw him lose his balance as the kick landed on the big tyre of the ute and down he went. For a second time that day.
And I went on my merry way. Back to thinking about my long holiday and having a sleep in, reading a book and not shaving.
Of course, I’ll also have a good Christmas story to tell when I catch up with the Scottish Plumber for a convivial ale or two.
