You’ve been driving for about eight hours and all you want is a classic pub dinner, but you’re in the middle of an endless stretch of unfamiliar rural territory with no such oasis in sight. You know there must be a tavern around here somewhere, but a cursory glance at the locals you spotted in the servo a few kilometres back tells you’d be better off not asking for directions.
You’ll find it yourself, do what you’ve got to do while drawing minimal attention to your person, and be on your way to the next available motor inn. At least, that’s the plan, but now you’re car’s grinding to a halt right there on the road. Aaaand… it’s gone. It’s usually so reliable, this zippy little car, but then you picked it for city driving, not for marathons on patchy country highways.
Now you’ve got to decide whether you’ll flag down one of the few passing cars, hoping they’ll be a fellow city slick who’ll understand your predicament, rather than a local in a powerful 4WD with a modified engine. Of course, the latter is much more likely to be able to help, and maybe even give you a list of mechanics close to Toowoomba. But they’re also more likely to remind you about your inadequacies in handling your business outside of the city.
Your other option is to call for roadside assistance, which is liable to take several hours to arrive. In your tired and hungry (verging on hangry) state, this hardly seems worth entertaining, but at least it would enable you to keep your pride somewhat intact. As in, you won’t have to pretend you know what ‘ECU remapping’ means while a tanned guy in an oilskin hat scoffs at how little height there is to your car’s undercarriage and makes fun of the tiny little boot.
Ultimately, this is probably just your own anxious self-condemnation talking, and you really want that pub meal – like, yesterday. You summon all your worldly grit, flick on your hazard lights and get out of the car, ready to take charge of the situation.