Tuesday, February 10, 2009

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.


  1. Join the car-trouble club. It's pretty much just me, and sometimes Le Femme Rouge when her car sounds like the Cloverfield monster.

    But I wouldn't diss AAA so hard- they save speedy deliveries for accidents, the really important towing times.

  2. Holy cow, the (almost) same thing happened to me about 10 days ago. The bridge out of our development had iced over, and I didn't see it in time. So I hit the patch of ice, and there were 3 cars waiting at the red light about 15 feet in front of me.

    So I scraped my car against the curb (it's about 6 inches high because it's a walkway over the bridge) to bring the car to a stop before smacking the guy at the end of the line. That worked, but then I had blown the tire.

    So I go to change the tire, and realize that the mofo who sold me the car didn't have all the tools in the trunk. I had a spare, and the jack, but not the thingie to take off the lug nuts or to crank the jack. (You can tell I'm an academic and not a mechanic.)

    So I call my wife and she comes and hangs out in her SUV while I'm freezing on the ground changing the tire with her car's stuff. (I'm not saying she should have done anything else; just explaining the situation.)

    About 45 minutes after the original ordeal, I am driving down to Goodyear which is literally about 2 miles from my house. I am so proud of myself for changing the tire and avoiding a towing fee.

    About 300 yards later I realize the spare is flat and I have to call a tow truck to take my (2 miles - 300 yards) down the street.

    The guy at Goodyear said that actually my spare was fine, it was just that I hadn't touched it in years and the cold weather really sucked the life out of it.


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