Air It Up Boys!
I pride myself in being self-sufficient. I
raised three children and dealt with my fair share of emergencies. I traveled
across country alone and even bought and sold homes. However, there is one
thing I’ve never had to deal with…car tires.
Yes, I’ve owned vehicles but for some
reason I’d managed to have someone around to handle any tire problems for me.
Needless to say, this time I had to pull up my big girl panties and talk to a
professional tire person…all by myself. (Okay, I’ll also admit that I lost
sleep the night before this little tire-fixing adventure.)
The first thing I noticed when I drove
into the small tire shop parking lot, there were no actual parking places. Shoot,
where is a safe place to park my car, do I go inside, or do these people come
outside to help me? Do regular people
just know this stuff, because I sure don’t.
Pulling around to the side of the building
on a grassy area, I park and lock my car. Apprehensively I walk into the dim
ice-cold office. Straight-back metal chairs occupied with men (customers) line
the walls, all eyes are glued to ‘The Deadliest Catch’ show airing on the mounted
TV, as the stink of rubber tires permeates the air.
“Can I help you ma’am?”
Taking a deep breath, I timidly explain as
I wave my right hand. “The tire on the passenger side, in the front of my van
looked squishy on Friday. I went to the
gas station and pumped it up.” Taking another deep breath and letting it out. I
shake my head and continue, “Then yesterday after finding a really good sale on
flip-flops I walked out to my van to go home and I noticed that the same tire
was looking kinda squishy”. Scrunching up my face, “I think something may be
wrong with my tire. Can you help me?”
The uniformed tire-person was glancing at
his computer yet paid some attention to me as I tried to explain my issues…in
detail, but I could tell he was very busy. Once I stopped talking, he held out
his hand and said, “Yes ma’am, key”, and walked out the front door after I
deposited my key into his soiled hand.
I assumed he was going to fix it, so I
scooted up to the closest freezing cold chair and perched. I held my purse in
my lap for protection. A minute latter the same man trots back inside with
paperwork in hand, he hands the papers to a grimy fresh faced kid and said, “Slow
leak right front”.
Hell! I could have been short and to the
point too, but I thought that maybe he wanted to know all the details in case
it was something else…I mean, who knows, I’m not a tire expert.
My frozen bottom went numb. Men stalked in
and out the doors. There was talk about tire size, tread wear, rotation,
sanding rotors, and brake pads. My ears perked up when I heard two men talking
about getting nails in their sidewalls, which are not patchable, and you have
to buy a new tire.
OMG, could this be my problem? Will I have
to totally buy a new tire? How will I
know what size? How will I know what
brand to buy? If I buy one, do I have to
buy three more tires to match? Although
the room was cold, I started sweating. In addition, I now had to go potty, but
NOT in that communal bathroom, that’s located right next to the front desk in
this small little waiting room…where everyone could ‘hear’. (I’ll hold it!)
Workers continue to stomp in-and-out as the
raaat-raaat-raaat whirl-whirl-whirl of some tire fixing equipment drowns out
the sound on the TV. Finally, a shirtless young teen walked in and said, “That
ladies vehicle is fixed”. Now how did that kid know it was a girl’s car? Well
never mind, it was done and I’m getting’ the heck out-of-dodge.
The good thing is I don’t have to worry
about those tires anymore because I got a new vehicle. However, the bad thing
is, my newly purchased used car….needs new tires!
