Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Make Sure Your Rubber Fits

The day before New Years Eve, New Years Eve Eve if you will, I decided I was going to go out and met a boy, no matter what it took. Well, on the way to my first stop, which was Diedrich, I drove over a pile of snow. Well, what I thought was a pile of snow. It turned out to be a curb. A curb that ate a half dollars sized circle in the side of my tire. I pulled over out of traffic and quickly got stuck on ice. After much cursing and slamming of doors, I retrieved my tire changing things (no idea what they are called) and proceeded to change my tire. Yes, I do know how to change a tire! Fuck off! Well, the good news of this story is that not only did I met a boy, I meet two! Yep, as I was in the middle of changing the tire, in my fancy shirt, tight jeans, and good boots, these two faggots (and I use the word in the hateful way) walk by, glance my way, and say, “Huh.” Then they kept on walking. The least they could have done was sat and watched and requested for me to work without my shirt on. Assholes.
Anyway, that was not really the point of the story. Today, twelve days later, I finally went to the tire store. I hate going there, it takes forever, costs way too much money for rubber, and is greasy—and not in the good way. Well, I decided I was going to find a new tire store. My old one was is nearly forty minutes away. So, out came the yellow pages and I discovered one less than a mile away. I hop in my car and embark on my latest adventure. Well, I drove past it the first time, and nearly drove past it for a second time due to my fear. But then remembered that I am lazy and don’t want to have to find another one. The place is scary. I might have confused it for the city dump, but it wasn’t that nice. As a true testament to my courage and non-judgmental personality (quit your scoffing), I walk through the front door. Typically, at this point I tell the tire guy what happened and he shakes his head at me and then looks at my tire, then returns to his computer, puts in the data, which tells him which tire best suits my car, proceeds to take an hour to pump, buff, adjust, and romance the damned thing until it is perfect (let’s not talk about how a tire gets more play than I do). After all this he will ask for my credit card and charge nearly a hundred dollars (do you know how many Sonic burgers you can get for that!?!) Needless to say, none of the above happened today. There was no computer, not even a cash register I could see. He looked at my tire and said, “I got two we could use, you want new or used?” To which I eloquently said, “huh?” Is it even legal to use used tires? He wandered into his shop which had a couple hundred tires of varying health and cleanness, and pulled out two. “Which one you want?” he asks. It was a hard choice. The tires did not look the same size to me, so I simply went with the one with the deepest treads; it is the year of the blizzard after all. He swiftly put the tire on my car, held his hand out and said, “Twenty Dollars.” I handed him a twenty, got in my car and drove off. Upon arriving home, and doing a more thorough inspection, I am fairly certain my tires are of different sizes—the new one being a little more robust than my other three. However, for a process taking all of five minutes and costing only twenty dollars, I am thrilled. I will heretofore only buy tires at questionable establishments. I wonder if I can go to jail for having stolen or hijacked tires on my vehicle. . . Of course my large tire will probably cause the alignment (whatever that is) of my car to be altered, resulting in my other three tires imploding and sending me into oncoming traffic and to my impending death. But, hey, for twenty bucks, I can’t complain!
Who knew trying to get a boy could be so complicated? Oh, wait… I guess I did; that’s all I talk about, isn’t it?

1 comment:

d-wain said...

You have made me laugh on a night I didn't feel like laughing. Thank you.