After seven wins in a row and only two goals conceded in this sequence, the morale of the team is at its peak… In terms of sport, everything is going very well. So I go to the gym with a light heart on this Monday morning in June.
” Ursakta, Ursakta! »
That’s the Swedish way of saying “sorry, sorry”. A lady calls out to me as I close the door of my car on arrival at the gym. Seeing her serious expression, I immediately have the impression that what she is about to tell me will help me have a very bad Monday morning. She points to the back of my car. When I see my completely broken right rear wheel, I have to laugh. After a few weeks without any noticeable incident, it’s almost normal for something like this to happen. However, what I didn’t expect was that the day would only get worse and worse.
From the first few seconds of my drive to the gym I should have known something was wrong with the car. A faint but definitely unusual noise should have made me stop to assess the situation. Instead, I opted for a solution that seemed more appropriate for a Monday morning: I turned up the volume on the radio.
Now that I know the source of the little noise requires the help of a mechanic (or a Good Samaritan who knows how to change a tire), I call the car’s co-owner to wish her an equally good Monday morning. Evelyne is at the gym, barely 50 meters away from me. When I tell her the news, she too starts laughing and I quickly realize that, like me, she doesn’t know how to handle the situation.
So earlier in the week we make the decision to involve a third person in our little crisis who always seems to save us when we get into such an annoying situation, Lovisa, our sporting director. Evelyne sends him a message. Twenty minutes later we have the following plan of action: we use the pump that Lovisa says is in our trunk to inflate our punctured tire again, then Evelyne takes the car to the Bilcentrum garage. She will then get our groceries for the week and I will sit with her on her bike after my workout to help carry the grocery bags to our apartment.
Inflating the tire goes smoothly, and about twenty minutes later Evelyne texts me to confirm the car is in the garage. At this moment I tell myself that our efficiency in times of crisis has improved a lot since we lost our apartment key after a drama in Denmark.
Ironically, it’s this thought that suddenly makes me realize I left the same key in the car.
Not at all dramatic, I send the following message to Evelyne:
“The key is in the car”
I realize “the key” isn’t very specific, so I’ll add:
” Of the House “
Evelyne asks me if I can go to the garage to get the key, then she writes:
“I’m so close to crying. »
Since this turnaround is 100% my fault and I don’t want Evelyne to shed tears in the fruit and veg department, I quickly finish my training and go to the Bilcentrum.
I’m on a mission, I’m pedaling fast. After three minutes I’m standing in front of what I thought was the location of the Bilcentrum, but is actually the location of a telephone company. After five months in a city as big as Victoriaville, I still seem to be having a hard time finding my bearings.
I take two deep breaths. I have no cellular data and there is no WiFi nearby. I’m starting to have enough. Luckily I don’t have to go around in circles for too long because when I scan my surroundings I can see the Bilcentrum on the other side of the boulevard.
Twenty minutes later I’ve picked up the key and I’m standing in front of our apartment complex. Evelyne and all our shopping bags are waiting for me on our balcony. We look at each other without a word, both still shocked by the sequence of events of the last two hours. It’s not quite the quiet Monday morning we expected when we woke up.
I’m sure we’ll be laughing about it very soon, but right now Eve and I have only one wish: to spend the rest of the day locked in our respective rooms, away from cars and keys.