Get it? The title? Don’t worry, you will. 😀
Okay, I’m behind. Not A behind, though that certainly applies nowadays, but I’m behind in work. I spent yesterday doing Turbo Sculpt (and I’m hobbling around today as a result, that is a KILLER workout for your legs), then I got caught in a SEVERE and UNEXPECTED thunderstorm while taking my movies back to Blockbuster. In fact, it rained so hard that I had to spend 20 minutes in my car to wait the thing out so I wouldn’t be swept away and left hanging onto the storm drain for dear life.
Can you imagine? … On second thought, don’t imagine. 🙂
When the rain had abated enough for me to make it inside without getting drenched, I backed up and parked in a spot a little closer to the store. Normally, I wouldn’t do this. Normally, I LAUGH at people that circle parking lots, like vultures, looking for juicy spots close to the store front. I SNICKER at people who wait to sweep in and snatch up the next available parking spot all in the name of saving themselves from walking another 20 feet. *snort* But yesterday? I broke my cardinal rule (it’s a mile to the entrance? No worries, walking won’t kill me) and I parked close enough that, if I wanted to, I could leap frog onto the sidewalk.
However, shortly before I put my car into park and shut the engine off I noticed an unfamiliar, and unwelcome, light on my dashboard: my “low-tire” light had switched on.
Son of a …
This was the second time in about three months that my low-tire light has come on. The first go around I actually heard the hissing as the air escaped from my tire. And I KNEW it was going to happen because shortly before I started hearing that hissing sound, as I’m driving down the road and over my radio, that’s how loud it was, I drove through a patch of glass. I can still hear the sickening, crunching noise as the shards ground their way into the rubber. I immediately drove my car to Mr. Goodwrench and they patched my tire. Cha-ching! They sucked me out of fifteen bucks. (Which isn’t bad to patch a flat, in my opinion. And may I just add, the Mr. Goodwrench dude? SMOKIN’ HOT).
But this go around, I had no clue what could be causing the light to come on. I mean, one minute I’m sitting in my car, waiting for the rain to ease up and the next? I’m staring at the low-tire symbol – a symbol I’m beginning to dislike IMMENSELY.
The funny thing is? I hadn’t moved when that light came on. WTH?
I drove home, got out and circled my car, putting my ear to each tire in an attempt to hear that tell-tell hissing noise. And I got the giggles because I could just imagine my nosy neighbors looking out of their windows and seeing me bent over my car, like I’m trying to tell it a secret or I’m having an intense conversation with it. My neighbors already see me constantly Windexing my car windows, vacuuming it out and shining up the wheels anyhow, I’m sure they already think I have an unhealthy attachment to my car to begin with. And now I’m walking around the thing, leaning in close and telling it my deepest, darkest secrets.
Me and my Vibe? We’re thisclose.
I know – how stupid. But this is how I think folks. I keep TELLING you I’m a certified dork. WHEN will you start believing me?!
Where was I … oh yes. No hissing noise. Hmm … now what? I mean, I COULD take it up to Mr. Goodwrench again, but what if all it needs is air? How embarrassing would that be? So, I do what every female does in this situation – I called my man.
*grunt* He’s really busy at work right now. I hated to bother him, but this was SERIOUS! What if I needed to run an errand tomorrow and I walked out to my garage and my car was lopsided because I had a flat tire? Oh sure, I could call Triple A but come on … you and I both know I wouldn’t do that. I’m WAY too chicken to deal with a strange man in my garage! *shudder*
“My tires are losing air.”
“And … I’m not sure whether I should take it to Mr. Goodwrench. I mean, what if it just needs air? Then I’ll feel like a fool and have to pay them to put air into my tire. How pathetic would that be?”
There’s a long pause.
“Look,” he sighs, “check the air pressure. Your tires should have 32 pounds of air. If any of them are below 30 pounds, then take it in.”
Hhm, that sounded logical. And easy. I can DO easy. “All right.”
So I did. I checked my tire pressure in each tire. And every tire showed exactly 32 pounds … EXCEPT my back right tire.
Swell. It registered 27 pounds. I thought that was pretty low. And considering my light came on not thirty minutes earlier, I thought that was REALLY low given the time frame.
So, I swallowed my girly pride and drove my Vibe up to Mr. Goodwrench. When the guy FINALLY came out (that is the only thing that irritates me about this place – HELLO?! *KNOCKKNOCK* Customer calling!), he looked at me like I was crazy when I told him that I thought my right rear wheel was leaking air. It was only after I told him my low-tire light had come on did he give a brusque nod and say, “Okay, we’ll take a look at it.”
I know he thought I was crazy. But HEY! How much trouble would it have been if I didn’t follow up on this and the damn thing lost ALL air?
So, they checked it out. And they spent a long time on it – too long. I began to get worried. And suspicious. There was no way I was going to allow them to sucker punch me into thinking I needed something for that car when I didn’t really need it. You know how it goes – single female, all alone and looking nervous. Just tape a huge dollar sign to my head, why don’t cha.
I gritted my teeth and waited for the verdict. When they finally lowered my car and walked into the waiting area, I was ready to do battle.
“Well, you ran over a nail,” were the first words out of his mouth.
“Erm … huh?” Was my intelligent response.
“Yep. Nail.” He grinned and motioned for me to come up to the counter. “Apparently, we’ve had some remodeling truck come through here a few days ago and lose some of their equipment. I’m thinking they must have dropped some nails because we’ve had several cars through here the past few days with nails in the tires.”
“Erm … I’m sure THAT’S a coincidence.” I chuckled to cover the fact that I was ready to do battle with this nice man. Honestly, it’s a wonder I have a man at all given my snappy comebacks. *rolls eyes*
So, Cha-ching! Another 15 bucks went up in smoke. And as a result of this unexpected stop, (and the fact that I had to go tan – HEY! I have my priorities straight, hush), I didn’t get any work done.
And now, I’m even MORE behind than I was before I told you this story. I had MEANT to just post a joke and get back to work but now …
Well, I’ll go ahead and post the joke anyway. (Provided you’re still awake at this point to READ it. Heh).
A mechanic was removing a cylinder head from the engine of a Jaguar when he spotted a well-known heart surgeon in his garage.
The surgeon was there, waiting for the service manager to come and take a look at his car.
The mechanic shouted across the garage, “Hey, Doc, can I ask you a question?”
The surgeon a bit surprised, walked over to the mechanic working on the Jaguar. The mechanic straightened up, wiped his hands on a rag and asked, “So Doc, look at this engine. I open its heart, take valves out, fix ’em, put ’em back in, and when I finish, it works just like new. So how come I get such a small salary and you get the really big bucks, when you and I are doing basically the same work?”
The surgeon paused, smiled and leaned over, and whispered to the mechanic…
“Try doing it with the engine running.”
How’s about that? I even found a mechanic joke! WOW! I’m good.
All right – ALL RIGHT! I’m working now.