Me, Me, MeI’ll give you the full story later because it is a DOOZY, but for now I’ll paste the email I sent to the office from my car this morning…
I am at the side of Hwy 85 with a flat. My second flat in two miles. I changed the first flat and then the spare blew. Am out of tires now. Tow truck: one hour. Projected first cup of coffee: two point five hours. End to my penance: seemingly never.
The initial estimate for all the stuff that needs doing is twelve hundred. Before new tires.
Hey, look. I still have grease in the creases of my hands. Good lord.
~Later~
Now. where was I? Oh, yes. The tow truck.
The Tow Truck Driver (hereafter referred to as TT) hunkered down to look at my tire and grunted.
TT: “These tires can’t stand up to much without the right pressure in it. Who put this on for you?”
Me: “I did.”
TT: “You did?”
Me: “Yep.”
TT: “You did?”
Me: “Yes. I can change a tire, you know.”
TT: “Wow, I gotta respect that. We consider this a service for ladies. We get these guys, big guys who won’t even get out of their cars and as soon as we round the corner and see it’s not a lady we yell [expletive deleted]!!”
Me: “OK, so the car runs fine so it can be driven right onto the bed. Want me to do it or do you need to do it?”
TT: “I’ll do it. Man. You blonds are tough.”
He got the car all secured and we were on our way. What followed was the most bizarre conversation ranging from tire structure to gender roles (why didn’t my husband see that my tires were wasted?) and divorce (that’s why) and acceptable reasons for divorce, and was I crazy, and tell me your story and I’ll tell you mine, and holy shit, that’s an ender right there. He was very nice. It turns out that he, too, was part of the dot-com casualties and had worked in high-tech for eighteen years. “And I’m doing THIS. Because I have to right now.” We both nodded silently.
As we pulled into the dealership, he asked if I was going to be ok. I said of course I was, what did I look like, a wimp?
“No, ma’am. You’re tough. How do you survive?”
“Because that’s what I do. I survive.”
To make a long story perhaps a little shorter, I’ll skip the rigamarole at the dealership. Let’s just say that I had to walk down to the Hertz place with all my crap to rent a car. The rental guy was wonderful and efficient. He asked if I minded a Buick, and I asked if it would drive six miles, and he said yes, and I said yer on. He handed me a set of keys and told me I’d find it parked in the back in stall number eight.
I walked around the building, and as luck would have it, the only empty stall was stall number eight. “Excuse me, um, if the car wasn’t, for instance, in stall number eight, where might it be?” “Oops, sometimes we park the cars in the antique store lot to make room for customers.” Of course you do.
So, I made my lunch meeting but couldn’t eat because my jaw was clenched too tight, and then bolted so I could be home for the one-to-three delivery window for my new desk. I came in the door, tossed my keys on the counter, and saw that the answering machine was blinking. I knew it. I just fricking knew it.
“Hi, um, this is the delivery company, and we don’t have you down for a time today, and we don’t load the truck if we don’t have a time, so I hope you aren’t sitting there waiting for us, so, um, call us and schedule one, ok?”
You don’t want to know about the message I left there but it included references to the delivery window assigned three days ago and my cell phone number being the contact phone and about me missing work to be there.
Ugh. My back hurts. I pulled the troublesome muscle in my glut from an innner-tube water polo match injury back in in college. So, it’s off to be flat on my back for a bit, and then back to work.
Heh. A friend just called and said, “Wow, you’re having a bad day, even by YOUR standards.” That’s about the size of it.
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04.05.05 at 09:08 AM |
Tons of hugs. You know I’m just a call away if you need me. It’s okay to ask for help. ;)
04.05.05 at 09:08 AM |
I know I don’t have to tell you this girl, but you need a vacation, badly. Complete with cabana boys and frosty beverages.
Two tires in two miles. I’m so sorry.
04.05.05 at 09:15 AM |
Oh.. that sucks really bad. You are one strong broad to get through that…. I think I’d still be sitting by the side of the road in tears waiting for AAA to come. I foresee lots of vino tonight. I’ll be thinking of you as I have my “one glass”—albeit a 24 oz. goblet.
04.05.05 at 09:37 AM |
Wow, you change your own tires?! *respect*
04.05.05 at 09:46 AM |
it’s “tyres” duh…
04.05.05 at 10:29 AM |
Oh man! That totally sucks! I’m so sorry!
“Greasy creases” ... hehe….oops, sorry.
04.05.05 at 11:25 AM |
Holy crap! What a bad day! Good for you on changing your own tire. I can change mine too. :D I raise a glass to you.
My word: Other. As in have an-other glass of wine.
04.05.05 at 11:31 AM |
You know, it’s funny… every time I have a really bad day, every member of my close family always says “have a couple of glasses of wine and relax.” It’s my family’s answer to every critical problem in life—but I’m willing to accept our non-traditional problem solving mechanism. So have lots of wine and relax.
04.05.05 at 11:41 AM |
YAY! Just as I was slipping into a horizontal position, the delivery guy came! So what if it was the file chest instead of the desk, and if I had to help him unload it and then uncrate it myself (and I do mean unCRATE)? How much worse can my back feel after that?
My favorite part? “Man, you sure are strong.”
*limps off to bed, noting that the shoulder injury is saying hello*
04.05.05 at 12:29 PM |
We already knew you were strong. I’d like to say I could change my own tire but I don’t know. I’ve never had a flat. I don’t think I could.
Pop a couple Advil with that wine unless you have something better.
04.05.05 at 01:17 PM |
So, uh… did you ask him for a date? ;)
Sorry. I’d let you drive my car, but it’s filled to the brim with baby crap.
04.05.05 at 01:46 PM |
And to whom do you think Mindy was talking on the cell phone during the first flat episode? Her mother, of course, who, at the first scary sound and with heart thumping up into throat, promptly and very wisely advised her to pull over. Ok, ok, but when her smart mom also advised her to call someone to change the tire, she sniffed that she could certainly change a flat and would call back shortly. Ten or twenty minutes later she did, and the conversation took up as though never suspended by that first scary sound. Two minutes into the second call, there went that really really scary sound again, athump athump athump, or was that the sound of Mom’s heart in throat again, or a double expresso adrenalin rush? Mom’s Wise Advice: pull over, now. Response: okokok, duh. [Short Pause] [Huge Mindy-patented laughter] “My spare is flat too!” These are not the words a Mom wants to hear on a cell phone with the whizzing of speeding cars on a freeway punctuating the emphatic point, especially a well-educated Mom who has learned that a Volvo has four tires and only one spare. Lesson here? Moms never ever stop worrying about their kids, even those tough blondes who can change tires, and who can also change out a radio or pop out a locked gear shift in two minutes flat. Where did she learn this stuff, anyway? I knew there was an excellent reason not to let her play with Barbie dolls, but who gave her Mork the Mechanic??? And my secret word is “done,” as in Moms are never done worrying about their kids, and kids never cease scaring their Moms. If I weren’t 1829 miles away I’d pick her up from work today. Love to Mindy the Mechanic.
04.05.05 at 02:56 PM |
My mom? Is so totally my best friend.
And would probably be giving me that Mom-patented look of insistent disapproval if she could see her granddaughter rocking out to Moulin Rouge’s “Voulez vous couche avec moi, ce soir?”!!
It has to be the Barbie influence…
(Photo is in the extended entry.)
04.05.05 at 03:30 PM |
Is that French??? Your mom would be right.
04.05.05 at 04:10 PM |
Your mom is the best!
04.05.05 at 06:04 PM |
We love you Mindy’s Mom!
04.05.05 at 06:14 PM |
That’s terrible and heroic all in the same post. Indeed, excellent survival skills and I applaud you. I scoot from Santa Cruz to Palo Alto on 85 frequently and now I feel quite strongly you should have my cell phone #.
(That sounded stalkerish. Not the intention! I guess I’m always looking for margarita sipping buddies.)
04.05.05 at 06:32 PM |
Um… Really? You’re blonde?
04.05.05 at 07:42 PM |
Say that to my face, Ozarkyn.
Actually, it used to be blonde but I have come to accept that it is at best a very, very dirty blonde. My kids call it brown but in fact it is a dark blonde with a tinge of red. I had fine, flaxen, cornsilk hair until I started having babies, and then mom’s genes began to assert themselves. First a curly patch right in the back, and then when Dylan came it turned red, and when Daphne came it was undeniably curly. If I just let it dry it looks almost like a perm.
(Yes, I would love to have my old hair back.)
HA! My word is “straight!”
04.05.05 at 08:15 PM |
Thank goodness I never noticed you had hair on your back! God, I’m having a lot of fun with this topic… Yes, I know paybacks are a female-dog…
04.05.05 at 08:29 PM |
Your site has no irony, your word is ‘straight’ and mine is ‘progress’.
Bitch.
You got my word =0)
04.06.05 at 01:12 AM |
” I pulled the troublesome muscle in my glute from an innner-tube water polo match injury back in in college.”
funniest.implausible.sentence.in.a.blog.ever.