My brother, Sergei, is basking in the glow of owning his first car after buying a third-hand van from a mate of a mate a couple of months ago. At least, that was the case until this morning, when the actual reality of car ownership hit home. The junk bucket stopped working somewhere out near Mitcham while Sergei was on his way to have a surf.
This came as a surprise to precisely nobody, except for young S, who had been blithely turning a blind eye to the less desirable features of the van’s condition – I’m talking rampant rust and its disinclination to start. Honestly, I don’t even know how this thing has a roadworthy certificate.
Fortunately for Sergei, there are plenty of car mechanics in Ringwood, and he was able to have the issue taken care of with a minimum of fuss. The problem is that he’s now totally maxed out his bank account – he hadn’t anticipated this brand of expense, and didn’t have much in the way of savings tucked away for the cause.
In my opinion (that of the wise/smug older brother), budgeting for emergency car services is something he needs to come to grips with, especially if he insists on getting around in a van that’s coming apart at the seams. If he doesn’t do this, he’s going to expect me to help him out every time something like this happens, which – let’s be real – is going to be pretty regularly.
Besides that, what’s he going to do when his mobile pile of junk needs urgently fixed closer to home? I mean, in Ringwood, brake and clutch repairs, brake pad replacements and things of that nature can be arranged pretty easily, but who knows what the deal is out where he lives in Nar Nar Goon? I’m sure he’ll figure it all out in his own good time, by which point he’ll probably have upgraded to a vehicle that’s a tad more reliable.