why I STILL HAVE TO walk, EVEN THOUGH MY father GAVE ME A bike
My father is a janitor. I often help him clean up the ash-barrel houses on Sundays.
In many dark cellars there are bicycles, which are often used. A few of them seem to stand around useless because no one seems to go on them. On such bicycles my father hung a note, on which was written “Please move this bike, otherwise it will be disposed of in 3 months”.
Guess which bike he didn’t want to throw away, but gave me because I needed one! I’ll tell you in a minute…
So one bike was well preserved. But it wasn’t quite roadworthy yet. This one was meant for me. But which one was it? I didn’t want it! That means at first I did not want it – now I do!
Then the bike got fixed
His ex-girlfriend is now his employee in his janitor’s company. She said she knew someone who could fix the bike so I could ride it on roads.
But she did not say two important details.
- the price-i.e. how much the repair of the bike would cost and
- who would repair the bike.
My father didn’t ask because he thought it was just some acquaintance of his ex.
But he thought wrong!
His ex gave the bike to a state-certified bicycle mechanic master and not a hobby craftsman. This, of course, had consequences.
Consequences worth 150 Euro!
That’s how much the repair cost, although the bike-pro really did not have to do much.
Well. So the bike was virtually free. But its repair cost my father 150 euros.
And now, you wonder. “Why didn’t you want it?” Wait a second…
I took the bike although I didn’t like it
Shortly afterwards I visited my father. He showed me the bike and told me that the repair cost 150 euros.
Phew! I was overwhelmed.
I rode on the bike for a short time in the underground car park. The saddle was very comfortable. The gear shift was easy.
But you can guess that my legs are quite long. After all, I am 1.87 m tall.
When I went around the bend, my knee touched the handlebars.
Somehow the bike was high enough. But somehow also relatively short.
But that was not the problem.
You could have adjusted the handlebar so that I no longer hit it with my knees.
Still, I didn’t want to. Although it was blue and blue has been my favorite color so far!
Shortly after, I met A, a former friend of mine.
So I sold the bike to A
I told her about the bike and told her why I didn’t want it.
She said “Such a coincidence!” Because SHE was looking for just such a bike at the time.
In addition, there was another problem. My money was scarce. But of course I had to eat something, the next few days, you know it.
But I did not want to ask my father for money again (after all, the repair cost 150 euros)
That’s why I asked A if she wanted the bike.
She has to give me something, however. The bike works perfectly and the repair cost 150 euros. That’s why I want something for it.
She asked how much I wanted.
I knew her. She also constantly has money issues.
“60 Euros? Would that fit?”
“Yes. Fits!” “OK. Here’s the key to the lock!”
“Great! I’ll give you the money when we see each other next time,” A rejoiced.
In fact, she gave me the 60 euros shortly after.
But she did not become poorer because of it.
Her grandma gave her the money for the bike.
“Great! She was really lucky, ” I thought quietly.
So now A has the bike.
A and me “lost contact” anyway
A little later I quarreled with A about a trifle. She cut off contact and blocked me on all social media.
But not on FB. A year later (!), I asked her if it’s not a bit excessive to be eternally angry about such a trifle.
No, apparently it’s not.
Back to the topic bicycle.
My Dad got suspicious
At some point my father said “You should ride your bike!”
Me: “Yes, yes,but…”
I somehow didn’t have the courage to tell him what I did with the bike and why I didn’t want it.
I first told the whole story Ms. S – a social pedagogue.
She said, ” A gift is a gift! Even if the repair cost 150 Euro, you can do what you want with a gift!”
You can imagine that I thought her opinion was great.
But this is the actual problem
OK. All right. “But why didn’t you fucking want it?”
It’s a women’s bike!!!
I didn’t want such bike back then.
Meanwhile, I would prefer pink, but this is blasphemy on a high level.
Meanwhile, I would like to ride a blue women’s bike.
Now I call myself Trixi.
I told my father the story and of course what Mrs S said. That I did not want it at first, because it is a women’s bike – but I would like to ride it now – just because it is a women’s bike.
And today my father saw me with lipstick and painted fingernails.
Nevertheless, he is apparently still slightly annoyed.
And I still walk or take the bus – even in good weather.