I busted my front right tire on my way to work this morning. I hit the curb so hard that it appeared I was trying to win an award for hitting curbs. My tire went flat immediately, like that very second.
Here was my thought process just before I ran into–slammed into–the curb:
Get to work, make final list of stuff to get at Target for vacation tomorrow, call Circuit City and see if they can install new car speakers today, don’t forget to wash Harley’s nightgown before packing her cloths, get oil changed, oooh, get a cof—BAM!
And there went my entire morning. The sweet universe helped me slow down by giving me a flat tire. It wasn’t completely heartless, the same sweet universe provided a just as sweet young police officer who happened to be standing on the street just opposite of the curb I hit. Being that my tire went flat immediately, I had to pull over within inches of the curb I murdered. Fortunately, for my pride, the officer missed me hitting the curb, but saw me pull over with the flat tire. He was headed toward me before I ever opened my driver side door.
“Want me to help you put on a spare?”
I swear those were his first words. He had a friend with him and they changed the tire in less than fifteen minutes. And didn’t even get the least bit upset when the car rolled off the jack the first time because I had forgot to put on the parking break. They both jumped out of the way and then looked at me and asked, “ummm, can you put on the parking break for us?”
I hope the next time I get pulled over for speeding it’s this guy. Seriously, he was super nice.
Once they got the spare on, I went to the nearest tire & automotive shop in downtown New Albany. It’s my least favoriet place, but it was the closest and I’m always paranoid about driving on the spare.
Oh yeah, and this morning was the morning I chose to forget my cell phone.
So when I get to the tire place, they tell me that I need not just one tire, but a total of three to replace my two back tires and it would cost about $300. I said sure and then asked if I could use their phone (they said I could use their fax line…gee thanks).
I had called my husband already using the police officer’s cell just to give him a heads up and let him know that I was without my mobile phone. From the fax line at the tire shop, I called my office only to find out that my husband had already called and let them know what was going on and left me a message on my voicemail.
My first thought was that his message was going to be a quick lecture about how he didn’t want to give me a hard time at the scene of the accident, but was going to make me get curb feelers. The curb feeler threat is a regular thing…this isn’t the first (or second) time I’ve flattened a tire by running into a curb.
Much to my surprise there was not one mention of curb feelers, but instead, a quick reminder that we had a warranty on that tire at a place other than where I was standing. I hung up the fax line, told the guy who was writing up my ticket and getting ready to ask me to hand over my keys, that I had to run up the street and meet my husband real quick. I sneaked out of there like a thief in the night (or a woman with a warranty at another tire shop) and headed up to Big O.
Not only did I have a warranty, but they didn’t try to force two new tires on me. So instead of $300 I spent $32 (I got my oil changed, one streaming conscious thought off my list). AND, the best part, I walked over to Target which was just two parking lots over from Big O. I got all of my vacation shopping wiped out during the forty-five minute wait (two streaming conscious thoughts off my list).
So not only did the universe help me slow down, it helped me knock out two big to-do items. There’s something about leaving for vacation that puts me in manic-mode. Whenever there’s a beach looming in my near future, I get all wound up like a high-maintenance soccer mom on speed. About five years ago, I had a major wreck the day we were supposed to leave for vacation. Not that my driving record is all that great anyway, but now there is a pattern with me doing whatever it takes unconsciously to slow down my conscious free-for-all.
So the flat tire was a good thing. By the time I was checking out at Target I felt like I had accomplished something and not just fucked up my car and the curb.
Of course, I am still pregnant…so when I left Target, I asked their customer service person if I could leave my bags with them and pick them up after I got my car from Big O. (Target was close, but I wasn’t about to lug four Target bags and a swimming noodle across two parking lots back to my car). After I paid my $32 at Big O and got my keys, I got in my car and headed off to work only to remember about ten minutes down 64E that I had left my Target goodies at Target.
What’s my husband watching tonight…
As I type this, my husband is watching a show on the Discovery channel about how they make brooms. Push brooms. Can you imagine anything less interesting?
Which ridiculous Discovery channel producer received a press release from the broom-making company and thought, “Yeah, that is a great idea, an entire 30 minute episode on how brooms are made.” Whoever wrote the press release hopefully got a big fat raise.
“Here’s what that bristling action looks like at full speed.” That’s a verbatim from the broom-making narrator.
