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.