Tired Yet

[Saturday]

I go out job hunting, returning 7 applications all around Dallas, and then park my truck out in the parking lot behind the dorms. Half an hour later I go back out to my truck for a grand mall shopping adventure. Sense something is wrong with The Truck of Malfunction (shorthand TOM), as driver’s side is noticeably lower than usual. Upon careful inspection, find I have a flat left front tire.

Damnation.

I have no spare tire (for long and complicated reasons that involve heredity, large weather systems, and crime patterns in Orange, Texas that we won’t get into here) so this will be an extra special feat of Jason.

Decide, in a very Gone With the Wind moment, that tomorrow is another day. More specifically, it is another day in which I’ll be much better equipped emotionally to deal with this whole thing. Throw my hands in the air, say “Bah, pointy, monkey,” and go find alternate driving plans for that night.

[Sunday]

Enlist the beautiful and always resourceful Devon to aid me in my Tire Misadventure (by this point it already has Capital Letter significance in my mind). Plan A is to go to the tire store and see if they have a spare tire for sale. Once we have acquired said spare, Devon will drop me off back at the TOM and hit the road, so’s I don’t inconvenience her too much.

Plan A dies quickly; they don’t sell spares that will fit on my TOM.

No problem - am brilliant, resourceful near-college-graduate, have many other plans.

Plan B: remove tire from TOM, leave it on the jack, run over to tire store, quick repair job and back to replace the tire, no fuss, no muss.

Well crap. I also don’t have spinny metal cross thing that you use to take the nuts off (no clue what it’s called. Take to calling it ‘spinny thing.’).

Arg. Obviously never was a boy scout. Good case could be made for being the anti-boy scout (My motto: “Never be prepared. Or helpful. Lie often.”).

Plan C: Go to Wal-Mart. Find spinny thing, purchase it. Bring it back to TOM, reinstate Plan B. Rock on.

Well crap. After arduous drive to Wal-Mart, are informed that they are all out of Lug Wrenches. (Devon: “Huzzah! We’re making progress. We know what the spinny thing is called now!”)

After careful consideration of the plans, Devon and I find a possible misstep: Devon has a lug wrench in her trunk. Perhaps that might work.

Plan D: Return to TOM, use the lug wrench from Devon’s trunk, once again reinstate Plan B.

Damnation.

Devon’s lug wrench is incompatible.

Quick huddle determines that we have spent far too long on this project. Are both very disheartened by failure of plans A through D. Will try again later on in the week.

Sigh. This is not my beautiful life.

[Thursday]

Noon. Have 2 hours to rectify tire situation, get a program done, and get to work by 2:00. No problem - am cool, confident, resourceful 22 year-old adult. Am so screwed.

Devon rejoins the Misadventure. Love Devon.

Plan E: Exactly like Plan C, but screw Wal-Mart, will rely on AutoZone as more likely to stock auto related paraphernalia.

Drive deep into the ghetto. Do not find AutoZone, but O’Reilly’s Auto Parts looks promising. Sweet! Lug wrenches! [Pause] Three kinds of lug wrenches. Damnation! Ask dude at counter to provide his expert opinion as to which will work best. Guy not only figures out which one it is, but goes back in the back to find a nut from a ’96 Ford Ranger just to be sure. Love him.

Plan E has not failed yet. Ever so promising and within schedule.

Return to TOM. Must loosen lug nuts. Then raise truck on jack. No problem – am strapping young man, have been working out, will have no trouble. 10 minutes into first-lug-nut loosening process with no visible progress and nothing to show for it but a small blister on my hand and sharp pains in my back. Follow advice of Devon and hop on one side of lug wrench. No results, but no injury so I count it as a success. Am afraid Plan E is dead.

Wait. Two Hispanic worker guys (HWG) come to our aid.

HWG: “Need help?”

Jason: “Thank Jesus!!!”

Devon: “I think that means ‘Yes, please.’”

[HWG grabs the lug wrench]

Jason [breathing heavily, covered in sweat]: “I don’t know, they seem pretty stuck…”

[within 5 seconds HWG has all 5 nuts off]

Jason: “Well then, yes, obviously.”

HWGs then proceed to save my life by finding a way to jack the truck up (despite its way too low to the ground status) that involves a jack, a gigantic 2X4, and a floor mat. Love HWGs.

They ask for the spare. I explain the absence of the spare and Plan E. HWG says that the jack is very precarious and will likely fall over if “someone leans on the truck or just breathes heavily.” I stop breathing in the direction of the truck, while I feel an ulcer developing. Thank HWGs 14 million times and tell them we will be quick like rabbits at the tire store and back before disaster can befall. They laugh and walk off into the sunset.

On to 'quick like rabbits' tire repair portion of Plan E. Head off to NTB tire shop, otherwise known as The Slowest Tire Repair Shop In The Recorded History of Humankind (TSTRSINRHOH). Wait at TSTRSINRHOH for 2 hours and 34 minutes (no exaggeration whatsoever). Midway through we are informed that the workers have thrown my tire out into the trash and have gone to retrieve it.

Run into one of our seniors from the Mustang Band whilst in The Waiting Room At The Slowest Tire Repair Shop In The Recorded History of Humankind (TWRATSTRSINRHOH). Have nice conversation, while slowly going insane as I imagine a squirrel throwing a nut at my TOM and it falling over and exploding, while the squirrel looks on, cackling madly.

Devon goes off to acquire us some lunch (have I mentioned? : Love Devon) while I stay and watch C-SPAN, the only channel you get in TWRATSTRSINRHOH. Crazy lady in wild flower patterned dress comes in. Begins talking C-SPAN (specifically to Momar Kadaffi who is talking about Iraq). When C-SPAN does not respond, she turns to me and repeats her line of questions. Have I mentioned that this is not my beautiful life?

Finally the tire is repaired. Is free! However, I have officially missed all of work, so net loss is $34.25. Return to TOM. Has not fallen over, exploded, or been attacked by maniacal squirrels. Breathe deep sigh of relief. Somehow manage to reattach tire to truck after only 30 minutes by ourselves, employing only 2 jacks, one floor mat, and one box of Scooby-Doo Band-Aids.

Final tally: One tire replaced in only 4 hours, 37 minutes.
And there was much rejoicing.