I had to do it, didn't I?
I had to draw the attention of L*ki and Er*s by ranting about my wonderful day yesterday, didn't I?
After three hours of sleep, I woke up for my 8 AM meeting perfectly refreshed...threw on a pair of jeans...headed out the door.
About three blocks on my merry way, the road suddenly got...rather...rough. Fearing the worst, I pulled into the nearest parking lot and stepped out of the car to survey the damage. Sure enough, I had a flat. No big deal. Half a block away, there was a Chevron station, a sure purveyor of Fix-A-Flat. Got the stuff. Paused to call my boss and explain the tire situation and why I would be a couple of minutes late to the meeting. "No problem," he said. "Take your time."
Cool. I got back to the car, unscrewed the valve cap, and applied the Fix-A-Flat can. I pressed the button and waited for the tire to fill.
And waited.
And waited some more.
...
What's that...hissing noise?
Again fearing the worst, I reached around the edge of the tire...and felt air rapidly escaping from a quarter-inch hole. Not a mere puncture, not just a flesh wound, a HOLE.
Okay. No problem. I have a spare. I can change a tire. I've worked on $14 million aircraft, for God's sake. Surely I can change a tire. Get the jack. Get the wrench. Get the spare. Loosen the lugs before I jack up the car... Grunt, step. One. Grunt, step. Two. Grunt, step. Three.
...
Uh oh.
Being the paranoid I am, I got the locking lugs. One on each tire. Okay, surely there's some kind of a key in the little tool kit.
I found a postcard for ordering extra keys. No key.
Fuck.
What did I do? Like a dumbass, I decided to try and drive home. Ten feet later, the rim was scraping the ground. Not good.
As I stood next to the car and puzzled over what to do about the flapping mass of rubber that was once my front driver side tire, a Pasadena police cruiser approached from behind...slowed down...surveyed the situation...and drove away.
I'll remember that when it's time for me to vote for their raise.
I walked back to the pay phone and called the boss again to give him the bad news. Well, it was considered a legitimate excuse for absence from the all-store meeting.
Then I walked home and called Mom. I hate calling Mom when the shit hits the fan. I like to try to work through it on my own. But in all honesty, I didn't know what else to do. We decided she would come over, and we would go to the nearest Mitsubishi dealer to try and get a key. Meanwhile, I would drive the car home, at about two miles an hour. Hell, the rim was shot anyway, three blocks wouldn't do any more harm.
While I waited, I decided to rummage through the trunk...and guess what I found.
Right. The key. It had fallen out and was buried under ten tons of junk in the trunk. Cool. I loosened the lugs again, including the infernal lock. I jacked the car up.
The tire would not come off. I don't know what's keeping it on. The lugs are sitting on the coffee table. Someone is going to have to muscle the damned tire off so I can put the spare on and drive it down to pick up my early Yule present--four new tires.
Thanks, Mom.