Things exist that do not exist. Or do they?
Friday, 4p.m. We are heading to Wiesbaden-Sonnenberg to say goodbye to my father-in-law. Tomorrow at the crack of dawn we are flying back to Peru. As so often our son has lent us his car. I have just unlocked the car when I see that the rear right tyre is flat. This simply cannot be true. And why at just this precise moment in time. We have no time to lose – the reason for this mishap is quickly found. Yesterday evening my wife drove over a dirt track in order to visit a friend who lives on an isolated farm. I suspect she picked up a nail on the way.
I look for the jack in the boot. In vain. Our son Florian obviously is among those modern drivers who have no spare wheel on board. It is said that it is better for the environment and that normally one does not get a puncture on German roads.
So we head to petrol station to pump up the tyres. We put €1 into the machine, press the button and read 2.2 bar on the display. So, that’s done and dusted. The air volume should suffice for the 7km to Sonnenberg. Five minutes later while my wife is driving I have typed the words “Wiesbaden” and “Tyre repair” into my smartphone. My display shows me a long list of companies and adverts, 50 at a guess. None of them rings a bell so I simply dial one of the many numbers.
“Hi, Reifen Box here, how can I help?” says a male voice at the other end.
I have no time for polite chit-chat and, furthermore, it is a well-known fact that on Friday afternoons the clocks tick unbelievably quickly at car-workshops. “We have a flat tyre and I can be with you at 4:45p.m. Does that suit? Where are you located?”
“We are based in Wiesbaden-Nordenstadt. But tomorrow morning would be ideal, for then we would have no time pressure.” I had feared that the technician would say words to this effect. “They are probably well into their weekend by now”, I muse; too bad.
“No, it must be done today as tomorrow morning we are flying to Peru!”
“Are you Pascal’s uncle by any chance?” (Pascal is my nephew). What did he just say? My jaw drops in astonishment.
“Err, and why do you know my nephew?” I stammer, completed stunned. “Come round later, we will sort your car out, absolutely no problem!” says the unknown voice to me.
Wow, this is one of the customer-friendly car-workshops that is still open late on Friday afternoons.
We head to aforementioned car-workshop in that suburb of Wiesbaden and at 4:45p.m. I am looking into the friendly gentleman’s face: “How come you know my nephew?” “We’ve been friends for years. Right, now where is that wheel?”
While the young man is getting the nail out of the wheel he asks me loads of questions about Peru. “How bad is Corona in Peru?”
“Very,” I answer, “much worse than in Germany!”
Soon the job is done: the hole in the tyre has been plugged and the wheel on the car has its famous ten-year guarantee.
“Where can I pay?” I ask. “Nowhere,” answers the polite gentleman, “You do such great work in Peru that your tyre is on the house!”
I now hear that “Reifen Box GmbH in Wiesbaden-Nordenstadt” is a family business run by Aramean Christians hailing from Syria. And Christian Lahdo (above right) who I met for the first time in my life is really one of my nephew’s friends.
This is one of the stories that knocks one for six. And all I said was: “No, I cannot come tomorrow, because my wife and I are flying to Peru!”!
“Then you must be Pascal’s uncle!” Spot on. My home city of Wiesbaden with its 0.28mio inhabitants is and stays a one-horse town. Thanks be to God!” And a quick selfie is necessary to complete the story. /KDJ
