Today, took my nephew for a ride in the car (my eleven year old nephew, not the one I attempted to murder with drain cleaner on Wednesday*), off to get Slurpees, since the sun was shining. But as I drove around the roundabout near my place**, I heard a clanging sound, and thought I ought to stop and see what had happened.
Well, it appeared, strangely, that I had hit the handle of a screwdriver, since that was lying in the road behind us. And the rear driver's side tire was hissing, letting me know it was soon going to be flat. So, I started up again, and intended to race over somewhere to get the tire fixed, but it was Sunday, a day when everyone expects the Lord to protect cars from needing repairs or tires, and the only place open was in the next town, which I did not dare try to reach on a rapidly-deflating tire.
So, I had to take off the tire, borrow my brother-in-law's car, and take it in to be patched. My nephew helped me unload it and said, "There's something inside the tire." I mentioned it to the mechanic, and he said, "Yeah, sometimes the tire pressure gauge breaks off inside the tire." I didn't know that was a thing, and it strikes me as crazy we'd have a gauge inside a tire. What is this, the 21st Century?
But yeah, you probably know where this was going. To get straight to the punchline, what was inside the tire was . . . the blade of a screwdriver. Somehow, I had hit it just right to go into the rubber, break off, and stay in there. The mechanic said that because of this, the tire was irreparable, and I'd have to get a new one . . . tomorrow, because they were closing up for the night. I said, "Fine, just set me up with the cheapest tire you have, and I'll come back tomorrow."
So, the next day, I took my mom's car over to get the tire first thing in the morning, and wouldn't you know it, they were out of the cheapest tire they sold, but they did have a more expensive one. But lucky me, the guy was going to waive the labor charge for re-mounting the tire . . . because I was going to be doing that myself. Really, they ought to erect a statue to this guy somewhere.
Now, this story is neither exciting nor enlightening, but I felt like sharing it because . . . hey, who gives a Ziplock bag filled with half-frozen diarrhea if I write every single day anyway? Couldn't I just switch it up a bit?
Words Today: 814
Words Total: 27,123
*Did I not write that up more extensively or do a podcast about that like I said I would? Shoot, sorry. I know that would've been a laugh riot.
**Christian H. Bale, do I hate roundabouts. 94% of people around here drive through them wrong, often speeding through as though they're yellow lights about to turn red, or red lights in a brothel district about to turn not-red, and I don't give crap one whether they save time or trouble or save taxpayers the price of four more stopsigns. If I ran the zoo, I would convert all roundabouts to four-way stops, and damn anybody who gets in my way. You can always vote for the other gu-- Oh, you already did.
No comments:
Post a Comment