For Your Reading Enjoyment

Since it seems that other people are actually reading this thing these days, I thought I might actually start writing something of significance on here (laughing to self). So prepare yourselves, people, because I have an intriguing and undoubtedly edifying story to share with all 2 of you....

I woke up naturally this morning at 6:30 without the help of my two, usually unsuccessful alarm clocks. I actually took a shower this morning, did my hair, ate breakfast, watched the news, and packed my lunch. for those of you who don't understand the significance of this, let me give you a quick glimpse at my usual morning routine: I roll out of bed approximately 20 minutes before I need to leave for work, throw on some clothes (usually wrinkled beyond compare), throw up my hair, brush my teeth, take a fake shower (fake shower = body spray... and a lot of it), and run out the door to eat breakfast and do my make up in the car. So the fact that I actually had time to get ready this morning was indeed a small miracle. I was feeling pretty good about my success as I strolled out to my car, holding a water bottle in one hand and my packed lunch in the other. Yep, this was going to be a good day. But then I noticed something interesting about my car... it started to look a little peelopped as I got closer to it. Then I spotted the problem....

I had a flat tire. Not just any flat tire, mind you, but the flattest of all flats. The air pressure remaining in my tire when I checked it hit a grand total of 1 pound. Ack!! I have no idea how long I had been driving on the poor thing before it finally heaved all of its remaining air out. Great. Just when I thought my morning was going so well.

I went through my phonebook and called every boy on the list. Every last stinking one of them was at work or out of town or sleeping (Caleb Maitland is in so much trouble). So, I finally resorted to calling my dad to ask for some fatherly advice. Now.... I’m 24 years old, so you'd think that I know better by now than to ask my dad for car advice. But no... I called him, only to receive the usual answer: "uh.... I don't know. Call a tow truck." I pressed further, "Dad, maybe you can walk me through the process of changing a tire, that way I can just take care of it myself." Silence. I heard him clear his throat. More silence. Finally, "Umm... well.... I think you should call a tow truck."

Great. Not even my own father thought I could change my bloody tire. Fine. Whatever. I called the towing company. "Well, ma'am, we've had a busy morning. It might be another hour to an hour and a half before I can send one of my boys out there." An hour and a half??? "Forget it," I said. "I’ll do it myself." Famous last words....

I changed out of my work clothes, marched out to my car (car owner's manual in hand, of course), popped the trunk, and pulled out my spare. I pulled the hubcap off of my pathetically deflated tire, but then I was at an absolute loss as to what to do next. I sat down in the parking lot with my hubcap, spare tire, wrench thingamajig, and jack all sprawled out in front of me, with my owner’s manual in one hand and my phone in the other. I think I stared at the tire for a good fifteen minutes before I manned up enough to tackle the bolts.

Ok, I’m sick of telling this story, so I’ll wrap it up: I CHANGED MY TIRE ALL BY MYSELF!!! And I’m pretty darn proud of it, too.

I drove my car down to firestone to have the tire patched up, only to find out that a nail had lodged itself in an un-patchable place. The verdict? I needed a new tire. Beyond that, one of my other tires was looking a little worn. So I walked out of firestone with two new tires, a few warranties for only God knows what, and an alignment. $300 later, my car is in relatively good shape (one can only hope). I’m sure I was jipped somewhere along the line, but I was too sick of dealing with it to care. The point, ladies and gentlemen, is that I changed my own tire.

The end.