Keep On The Sunny Side

It's been a hell of a week here at Rancho Snag and frankly I just needed a couple of days of peace and quiet.

Ask and ye shall be smited.

I was on my way to work this morning, happily plugging along the interstate and texting obscenities to my friends when a guy pulled up alongside me in a Lexus and started gesturing. I do a lot of gesturing myself while I drive and was about to return the favor when I saw he was pointing at my right rear tire.

What a delightful plot twist, I thought. I have a flat.

I acknowledged him and exited at the next off ramp. Found a parking lot, got out of the car, and looked at the tire. Sure enough. A little air left, but not much.

Now I live in that place that's not quite a city and not quite the country. You know, a suburb. In suburbs, at least the one in which I live, there are lots of places to get one's car fixed. Of course, that's not the way my life works. Instead I ended up in the one suburb in America that's zoned out commerce.

I found myself driving aimlessly through a desolate wasteland, tens of thousands of people living within screaming distance but no services except gravel pits and the soundstage for the upcoming blockbluster, "Office Max on Mars." After ten minutes or so I limped into a retail sector and scanned with futility for something besides Old Navy and restaurants serving Bloomin' Fungi and Chipotle Banana pancakes. Finally I gave up and pulled into an office building parking lot.

Getting out of the car, I weighed whether to call AAA or change the tire myself. I don't like changing tires. The last time I changed one was in a suit and tie on the side of an interstate in the middle of summer. That was special.

The time before was even better. An industrial section of Waco, Texas on the 4th of July. As I started to jack up the car my traveling companion attempted to offer some advice. I replied with a temper tantrum of truly legendary proportions. I eventually got the old tire off and the new one on. Lowering the jack, I found I'd changed the wrong tire. Hilarity ensued.

In fact, I've largely given up doing any kind of car repair. I was never very mechanically inclined although I could usually fumble my way through the simpler things. Automobiles have changed, though, a point driven home last week when I tried to fix a turn signal and discovered I couldn't get my hand in to reach it. I'm now down to three automotive related tasks I can perform myself, and that includes filling the gas tank and washing the car.

With that in mind, and an air temperature that would liquefy nitrogen, I quickly abandoned the idea of doing it myself. I trudged into the office building, asked for directions, and to my utter surprise was directed up the street to a tire store.

I returned to my car and made it there safe and sound, only getting lost twice on the four block drive. They soon patched the tire, and replaced the turn signal while they were at it, and sent me on my way.

Arriving at the office late even by my flexible standards, I was greeted by one of the women in my department. The last we'd seen each other was when I bolted out on Tuesday to help my wife deal with Katie.

"How are you?" she asked sympathetically and a little nervously.

I didn't answer for a minute. Then I started sputtering about flat tires and suburban hellholes and the waking nightmare that my morning had been, and the other people I work with laughed and teased me a little, and I laughed too, and we all relaxed and the day started to take on a familiar tempo, and it turned out that was what I needed.