A Comedy of Errors

So I was running a bit late leaving for my English teaching lessons tonight. Who me late? Yes, I know - what a shocker. As I was running a bit late, I forgot my map, ran back upstairs to grab it, relocked the door, sky-rocketed back down the 3 flights of stairs, grabbed the other bike and moved it out of the way; at times it feels at times that I'm working through a life-size jigsaw puzzle trying to figure out which bike of the four stored down below is mine. After taking the first bike out of the way, I grab my umbrella out of my bag because it has begun to rain very hard, shove my way outside, jump on my bike, and cycle down the street. For the first time that I can remember I hear a thwap, thwap, thwap. 'What is that?' I think, 'it must be my lock knocking against the tire cover'. Thwap, thwap, thwap. God, that's actually quite loud. I stop take a look; don't see much because it's pouring rain. ‘Man, I have to get going!’ is all I can think so I hop back on the bike- thwap, thwap, thwap- and stop at the next red light. 'Seriously what is that?', I say to myself and take one more good look at the back tire that has just revealed itself to be ... completely flat.

Oh no.

So I jump off my bike, hop onto the sidewalk and start walking down the road with my limping bike at my side. Plan B, hop on a tram to get to the metro and then it's off to Gramma's house (I am going to English lessons here; I'm just making a reference to Little Red Ridding Hood that you all should have picked up on). The problem with owning a bike does not have to do with the maintenance for upkeep or the possibility of spending an entire morning wearing soaking pants and boots after riding in the rain. The problem is becoming dependent on quick travel times by using your bike in between point A and B. For example, I left at 20 minutes after 6pm to be in Rotterdam Zuid (South) in 40 minutes time. On a bike I can do this no problem. On foot, using the tram, and then the metro, I cannot. So I make the best of what I can, I lock up my bike to a pole next to the tram stop and wait the 5 minutes for the tram.

The tram goes to central station without issue (I've been on a tram that has dropped us off 2km from the station due to electrical failures) and I think to myself, ‘Ah, I'd better top up my travel card (used in buses, trams, metro stations here) because I'm getting low'. I walk past the first booth because both its line-ups are out the door. 'That's a significant amount of people', I think to myself, 'lined up on a Tuesday night after dinner'. I think it will be quicker to go downstairs and use the automatic tellers, and so I go. I arrive downstairs to see a line-up just as long if not longer. 'What is going on here?' I try to squeak through the doors with what I have left on my pass and it's a no-go. So I join the line and then think, 'there has got to be another machine around here'. In fact, there is a huge sign saying 'two other machines located that way'. Hopping out of line I search for the other machines and find both with an out-of-order sign taped to them. I go back to the line where I wait for the next 15 minutes for my turn. It appears that this machine, although working, is only taking coins at the moment and nothing else. No debit, credit cards, large bills, nothing. Just coins. Yet everyone in front of me still has to try regardless so as to determine whether or not the machine will work for them especially or maybe just to prove or disprove what the person in front of them had told them - that the machine wasn't working. Hmmm, wooden shoes, wooden head....

It's finally my turn and I bumble through the buttons and throw in enough coins to get myself to Rotterdam South and back. It's now 7pm on the dot which is the exact same time that I'm supposed to be walking into class (if not greeting my students looking cheerful and ready to learn). Instead, I am running down the stairs to catch the next train to Slinge that will drop me off at Rijnhaven where I can walk to Afrikaanersplein, which is where the lessons are located. My hair is wet and a mess, the wool scarf I'm wearing has shed more than its share of 'hairs' that are in my mouth and on my wet glasses, my bag is soaked and I'm hoping not my lesson book, but no matter, I'm on the metro! My last method of transportation there!

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Rijnhaven station. The tram has barely come to a halt and I'm waiting, poised by the doors, pressing incessantly on the 'open' button of the doors. Then suddenly I'm freed and I start on a run down the ramp, out of the stalls, through the doors, across the street, down the way, over the bridge (I'm not kidding), up the lane, across the plein, into the building, up the stairs, through the glass doors (well not through it but pushing the handle walking into the glass doors...you know what I mean) and home free. At this point I am 18 minutes late.

All this and it's only 7:18. I have two more hours of comedy and fun as the girls and I chat about things in their lives and role play potential scenarios for when they visit English speaking countries. Although the money I made tonight will only defray the costs of getting a new tire on my bike, I'm still happy that I made it in one piece with only my bike worse for wear. Besides, I get to learn a new phrase:

Mijn fietsband is plat. Kunt u het alstublieft repareren? (Thank you Marbles)