"I’m just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round." I really hate to watch them blow.
Oh kids....you're gonna enjoy this one.
But first, have ya'll seen this movie The Wedding Crashers? Well, let me tell you, there's this scene in which Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson go hunting for quail, and Owen Wilson says, and I quote, "I don't even know what the fuck a quail is." Then....Bang! Vince Vaughn gets shot in the ass with birdshot.
Bet Dick Cheney's pal wishes he had only got it in the ass....ah, life does imitate art.
So, back to our story, as yet not in progress. On Sunday last, yours truly embarked on a trip to visit the lovely Brook in the quaint hamlet of Springfield, Missouri. The visit was to last two days, during which she and I would celebrate our first Valentine's Day together.
[Editor's Note: Everyone together now....Awwww.]
So I get off work at the Inn and load Sysco T. Dogg into the trusty Honda Civic and make my way toward the southwestern portion of the Show-Me State.
At first all is well. I mean, it's nipple hardening cold out. Almost to the point of glass cutting capability if you know what I mean, but I'm making great time. Brook is due to get off work at 10 p.m. and I's expecting to be there when she did. Then....trouble.
In a little spot I like to call the middle of fucking nowhere, the car started to get a little bit of a shake to it. It was the unmistakable sound/feeling of....a tire problem. In this case, a blown out tire problem.
Now it wasn't blown out to the point of say, tossing rubber all over the highway and causing the (to this point anyway) trusty Honda Civic to defy gravity as it flips NASCAR style through the air. But it was blown out to the point I could drive it nowhere but the side of road.
So at this point, I'm really pissed. But, the Jeff abides and I get out of the car to begin the process of tire changing.
Now, at first, all is going swimmingly. I get the jack into position and lift the car into the air. I remove the lugnuts, placing them for safekeeping in the upturned hubcap. Now comes the removal of the tire itself and its being replaced with the spare.
*Huffing and puffing ensue*
As I was saying, now is the time for tire removal and replacement.
*Huffing and puffing continue*
Well....shit. I can't get the motherfuckin' tire off.
Now, I had not before changed a tire on this car, so I search all around the tire and rim in the hope I am just missing something that needs loosening or removing. No such luck. I kick the wheel a few times to see if it's just really fused to the hub. The result is little more than anxiety over the thought of my car falling off the jack and crashing to the ground.
Did I mention how cold it was. I could cut and shape diamonds at this point.
So I do what any middle-class, suburban boy would do. I call AAA. They get on the line and attempt to determine my location. I tell them I can see a sign for a golf course just off the highway and behind me by about a mile. The golf course, I'm told is in Eugene, Missouri (don't ask). The AAA dispatcher, after keeping me on hold for about 15 minutes, determines I'm just outside Osage Beach.
Now in the this vast land of ours I like to call the "United" States of America, I realize distance can be a relative thing. So it's possible the approximate 25 mile gap I later learned existed between where I was and Osage Beach might be properly described as "just outside." However, the roadside serviceman AAA called to help me didn't seem to think so. He called me personally and informed me he would have to call the dispatcher back and have them send someone else as I was outside his area of service. Okay....starting to lose feeling in extremities here.
So AAA calls me back about 5 minutes later to tell me help is on the way. I ask them if they found someone closer as the first man they called told me he wasn't coming. "He told you what?" Oh...boy....Jeff feels a fuckin' comin' on. Do you follow me here? AAA and the service guy were fighting over whether or not he had to come help me. To top this off, my cell phone was near death, in a battery power sense, and every call to AAA came with a complimentary (or is it continental?) hold time of, approximately....too fucking long.
So the serviceman calls me again in a few minutes and informs me that yes I would receive said fucking if AAA were left to its own devices. See if he didn't perform this service, they weren't going to call anyone else. So he tried to talk me through the process. I told him the wheel was stuck. He said it has probably just fused itself to the hub a bit due to pressure from being driven on and I should just kick it a few times. (Hah! I knew that. I could be a mechanic.) I informed him I had tried that and was unsuccessful.
A pause on the phone...then a sigh....then, and I'm paraphrasing so interpret this as a quote despite the lack of punctuation, okay, I'll come out cause AAA is giving you a shitty deal.
Oh thank you Yahweh.
So about 45 minutes later he pulls up in his big ol' truck and gets out. The man's nickname, I'm guessing, is the behemoth. The man was large. He took one look at me and I could read his thoughts. I gotta drive all the way the fuck out here cause this pussy can't change a tire. He steps up to the car and, after checking to make sure I had actually removed the lugnuts, kicks the wheel once. Nothing moves. He kicks it a bit harder. Nothing moves. He gives it one last SWAT-Team-breaking-down-a-door type kick and again...nothing moves.
His frustration at this point is matched only be my pleasure at seeing the gigantic man make no more progress that had I.
"That sumbitch is really on there," he grunts. "Didn't figure I'd need a hammer, so I didn't bring one." (Well...fuck.) But my heart is lifted when he says, "I think I know what to do."
So he goes back to his tow truck and fetches the big piece of wood he'd use behind the tires if he were actually gonna tow a car. You know, the kind of stick Buford Pusser carried around.
"Now you watch my back. If any cars look like they ain't going around, you let me know." With that he takes a few steps into the highway and then, aiming the piece of wood like a lance, flings himself at the Honda Civic.
Hypothesis: My car will crash to the ground and/or this man will hurt himself badly.
Result: (Happily) The wheel comes off!
I tell you, all the frustration of this ordeal almost paid off when I saw the look of satisfaction on the man's enormous face. Not entirely, but almost.
So we get the doughnut (or is it donut?) tire put on and he asks me where I'm headed. I tell him Springfield and his faces gets that who-farted look on it. He advises me against driving that far on the little, almost childlike in his hands, tire. He then asked what sort of AAA membership I own. I tell him it's called Star or Diamond or useless....something to that effect. He suggests it might be called Plus. A quick examination of my card finds him to be correct. He tells me I'm allowed a 100-mile tow, free of charge with said membership.
Now I knew this and, weighing how AAA had attempted to figuratively sodomize me this evening, considered driving the 30 miles to Camdenton that would put me within 100 miles of Springfield and then having the Honda Civic placed on a flatbed truck for special delivery. Two things stopped me. First, Sysco T. Dogg would not have been allowed in the tow truck cab, and I couldn't imagine what riding in a driverless ghost car for 100 miles would do to his psyche. Second, I had no idea what the gargantuan serviceman and I would actually converse about for an hour and a half. So, despite the advice of a professional, I attempted the trip which would seriously test the parameters of the "50 at 50" theory of spare tire travel.
Happily, the trip went well. In fact, the spare handled so well I considered having four of them placed on the car. It was at that point I realized fatigue really can cause one to hallucinate. After traveling in the wrong direction of highway 65 for a couple of miles (fatigue again), I righted myself and finally pulled into the driveway on Wing-Ed Foot about 20 minutes past midnight, with a hug, kiss and story for Brook. The story has now been passed on to all of you. The hug and kiss? You wish.
Valentine's Day went quite well. Brook gave me an engraved flask. The engraving....oh yes, it reads....JeffRey. Brook gave me a cool, useful gift and, at the same time, indulged my silliness. How great a girlfriend is she!?!
[Editor's Note: Rhetorical question. She is the best.]
I went the cliche route and gave he candies. They were strawberries, hand dipped in white and dark chocolate. I know. I know. Her birthday is coming up next week. I'll do better.
Well, that is the story. I hope there was something for everyone. Suspense, comedy, probably no tears unless you really laughed your asses off. In that case....uh, screw you.
Because so much is riding on your tires.
JeffRey
But first, have ya'll seen this movie The Wedding Crashers? Well, let me tell you, there's this scene in which Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson go hunting for quail, and Owen Wilson says, and I quote, "I don't even know what the fuck a quail is." Then....Bang! Vince Vaughn gets shot in the ass with birdshot.
Bet Dick Cheney's pal wishes he had only got it in the ass....ah, life does imitate art.
So, back to our story, as yet not in progress. On Sunday last, yours truly embarked on a trip to visit the lovely Brook in the quaint hamlet of Springfield, Missouri. The visit was to last two days, during which she and I would celebrate our first Valentine's Day together.
[Editor's Note: Everyone together now....Awwww.]
So I get off work at the Inn and load Sysco T. Dogg into the trusty Honda Civic and make my way toward the southwestern portion of the Show-Me State.
At first all is well. I mean, it's nipple hardening cold out. Almost to the point of glass cutting capability if you know what I mean, but I'm making great time. Brook is due to get off work at 10 p.m. and I's expecting to be there when she did. Then....trouble.
In a little spot I like to call the middle of fucking nowhere, the car started to get a little bit of a shake to it. It was the unmistakable sound/feeling of....a tire problem. In this case, a blown out tire problem.
Now it wasn't blown out to the point of say, tossing rubber all over the highway and causing the (to this point anyway) trusty Honda Civic to defy gravity as it flips NASCAR style through the air. But it was blown out to the point I could drive it nowhere but the side of road.
So at this point, I'm really pissed. But, the Jeff abides and I get out of the car to begin the process of tire changing.
Now, at first, all is going swimmingly. I get the jack into position and lift the car into the air. I remove the lugnuts, placing them for safekeeping in the upturned hubcap. Now comes the removal of the tire itself and its being replaced with the spare.
*Huffing and puffing ensue*
As I was saying, now is the time for tire removal and replacement.
*Huffing and puffing continue*
Well....shit. I can't get the motherfuckin' tire off.
Now, I had not before changed a tire on this car, so I search all around the tire and rim in the hope I am just missing something that needs loosening or removing. No such luck. I kick the wheel a few times to see if it's just really fused to the hub. The result is little more than anxiety over the thought of my car falling off the jack and crashing to the ground.
Did I mention how cold it was. I could cut and shape diamonds at this point.
So I do what any middle-class, suburban boy would do. I call AAA. They get on the line and attempt to determine my location. I tell them I can see a sign for a golf course just off the highway and behind me by about a mile. The golf course, I'm told is in Eugene, Missouri (don't ask). The AAA dispatcher, after keeping me on hold for about 15 minutes, determines I'm just outside Osage Beach.
Now in the this vast land of ours I like to call the "United" States of America, I realize distance can be a relative thing. So it's possible the approximate 25 mile gap I later learned existed between where I was and Osage Beach might be properly described as "just outside." However, the roadside serviceman AAA called to help me didn't seem to think so. He called me personally and informed me he would have to call the dispatcher back and have them send someone else as I was outside his area of service. Okay....starting to lose feeling in extremities here.
So AAA calls me back about 5 minutes later to tell me help is on the way. I ask them if they found someone closer as the first man they called told me he wasn't coming. "He told you what?" Oh...boy....Jeff feels a fuckin' comin' on. Do you follow me here? AAA and the service guy were fighting over whether or not he had to come help me. To top this off, my cell phone was near death, in a battery power sense, and every call to AAA came with a complimentary (or is it continental?) hold time of, approximately....too fucking long.
So the serviceman calls me again in a few minutes and informs me that yes I would receive said fucking if AAA were left to its own devices. See if he didn't perform this service, they weren't going to call anyone else. So he tried to talk me through the process. I told him the wheel was stuck. He said it has probably just fused itself to the hub a bit due to pressure from being driven on and I should just kick it a few times. (Hah! I knew that. I could be a mechanic.) I informed him I had tried that and was unsuccessful.
A pause on the phone...then a sigh....then, and I'm paraphrasing so interpret this as a quote despite the lack of punctuation, okay, I'll come out cause AAA is giving you a shitty deal.
Oh thank you Yahweh.
So about 45 minutes later he pulls up in his big ol' truck and gets out. The man's nickname, I'm guessing, is the behemoth. The man was large. He took one look at me and I could read his thoughts. I gotta drive all the way the fuck out here cause this pussy can't change a tire. He steps up to the car and, after checking to make sure I had actually removed the lugnuts, kicks the wheel once. Nothing moves. He kicks it a bit harder. Nothing moves. He gives it one last SWAT-Team-breaking-down-a-door type kick and again...nothing moves.
His frustration at this point is matched only be my pleasure at seeing the gigantic man make no more progress that had I.
"That sumbitch is really on there," he grunts. "Didn't figure I'd need a hammer, so I didn't bring one." (Well...fuck.) But my heart is lifted when he says, "I think I know what to do."
So he goes back to his tow truck and fetches the big piece of wood he'd use behind the tires if he were actually gonna tow a car. You know, the kind of stick Buford Pusser carried around.
"Now you watch my back. If any cars look like they ain't going around, you let me know." With that he takes a few steps into the highway and then, aiming the piece of wood like a lance, flings himself at the Honda Civic.
Hypothesis: My car will crash to the ground and/or this man will hurt himself badly.
Result: (Happily) The wheel comes off!
I tell you, all the frustration of this ordeal almost paid off when I saw the look of satisfaction on the man's enormous face. Not entirely, but almost.
So we get the doughnut (or is it donut?) tire put on and he asks me where I'm headed. I tell him Springfield and his faces gets that who-farted look on it. He advises me against driving that far on the little, almost childlike in his hands, tire. He then asked what sort of AAA membership I own. I tell him it's called Star or Diamond or useless....something to that effect. He suggests it might be called Plus. A quick examination of my card finds him to be correct. He tells me I'm allowed a 100-mile tow, free of charge with said membership.
Now I knew this and, weighing how AAA had attempted to figuratively sodomize me this evening, considered driving the 30 miles to Camdenton that would put me within 100 miles of Springfield and then having the Honda Civic placed on a flatbed truck for special delivery. Two things stopped me. First, Sysco T. Dogg would not have been allowed in the tow truck cab, and I couldn't imagine what riding in a driverless ghost car for 100 miles would do to his psyche. Second, I had no idea what the gargantuan serviceman and I would actually converse about for an hour and a half. So, despite the advice of a professional, I attempted the trip which would seriously test the parameters of the "50 at 50" theory of spare tire travel.
Happily, the trip went well. In fact, the spare handled so well I considered having four of them placed on the car. It was at that point I realized fatigue really can cause one to hallucinate. After traveling in the wrong direction of highway 65 for a couple of miles (fatigue again), I righted myself and finally pulled into the driveway on Wing-Ed Foot about 20 minutes past midnight, with a hug, kiss and story for Brook. The story has now been passed on to all of you. The hug and kiss? You wish.
Valentine's Day went quite well. Brook gave me an engraved flask. The engraving....oh yes, it reads....JeffRey. Brook gave me a cool, useful gift and, at the same time, indulged my silliness. How great a girlfriend is she!?!
[Editor's Note: Rhetorical question. She is the best.]
I went the cliche route and gave he candies. They were strawberries, hand dipped in white and dark chocolate. I know. I know. Her birthday is coming up next week. I'll do better.
Well, that is the story. I hope there was something for everyone. Suspense, comedy, probably no tears unless you really laughed your asses off. In that case....uh, screw you.
Because so much is riding on your tires.
JeffRey
posted by The Crazy Leftist at 4:09 PM
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