Recent Event

Just yesterday, I found myself driving home from work. The clock was on, for I had to pick up my two eldest kids from school.

I was driving about 58 MPH down a 50 MPH stretch of road..

Whoa, if you're from the law-enforcement community, then I wish to amend my statement.

I was traveling at about 48 MPH down a 50 MPH stretch of road--and I had my seat belt on too, damn you, and I was NOT listening to NWA's "F*** the Police."

Nonetheless, the story proceeds as follows:

I'm tooling down the street (in my six-fo), when all of a sudden my wheel jerks and things get really bumpy.

My first thought was that I blew a tire.

My second thought was that Al Quaida had fired an RPG at men and missed only narrowly.

I used Occam's razor to conclude that I indeed had a blown-out tire, so I flipped on my hazards, slowed down, and made my way to the right hand shoulder.

However, there is no shoulder on the street--at least where I was--, so I drove a few dozen yards to where the street had a turn onto a perpendicular street, and there I stopped.

I emerged from the car, and it took less than a glance to see that, indeed, my tire had blown.

It was at this moment that I said several words that I chose not to repeat on this blog. If you wish to hear them, then go to Youtube and look up George Carlin's Seven Words You Can't Say on TV: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3_Nrp7cj_tM

The main problem (at this point) was that the blown tire was on the driver's side.

This meant that, in order to change the tire, I would have to be positioned in harm's way.

I mulled it over, considering how much I was worth to my family in terms of insurance, but finally decided that I could not bear to miss the series finale of The Office, so I called the cops.

I told them that I had a flat tire and that I was on a busy road, so I would appreciate an officer behind me with his lights on so that I could change my tire with less fear of death.

10 minutes later, the officer arrived.

When I showed him my tire, he said, "Jesus Christ!"

That is enough to say how screwed up was my tire.

So I changed the tire, said, "Thank you," to the officer, and drove away--a mere six miles from home.

However, about three miles later, I felt a jerk/shimmy that reminded me of thirty-minutes before.

I said some un-utterable words and phrases as I pulled over to the shoulder (thank God, this road had a shoulder!).

I stepped out of my car and took a look at the spare that I had put on no more than 8 minutes earlier.

It was blown. Kaput. Demolished.

It's at this point that I shouldn't even imply that I said some bad words.

That's how bad those words were.

They said things about you, your mother, and your infant child.

I was pissed!

I ended up having to call AAA (since I didn't have anymore freakin' spares), and they arranged for a tow truck to take me to a tire dealer (it only took 90 minutes!).

At any rate, I got a new tire and made it home a full three hours late.