And here I thought I was having a pleasant day. Purchased an iPad at a discounted cost, found a strip club $20 on the sidewalk, and was kept busy enough at work to make the day kind of breeze by. When I left work, I figured I would pick up Jen, be off the hook for dinner with tasty leftovers, and then watch the Braves vs. Yankees game while playing with my dog.
When I got in my car and pulled out of my space, I realized that the tire light was on in my car. My car has low-profile tires (standard, please), so it wasn’t much of a surprise to me that one or more of them might be having some deflation after the last 17 months. But still, I don’t like seeing any warning lights on in my car, so I planned on rectifying the air issue when I got home. The initial cruise test revealed that there was a slight pull to the left, so I figured the low tire was on the driver’s side; normal, since I primarily am the only driver, so there’s always more weight on the left side.
After picking up Jen, I did the cruise test again, and this time, the pull happened to be a bit stronger. At this point, I made the decision to stop at the next gas station ASAP, since I figure my tires weren’t warm enough to be filling up hot tires yet. I pull off at a gas station, and I get out of my car, and see that the front driver’s tire is indeed, pretty low. Surprisingly low. Unusually lower than I thought it might be.
I uncap all the tires and prepare to start filling, but then I notice the hiss. At first, I think it’s just ambient noise from all the cars, pumps and hoses around me at a busy gas station, but then I see a spot on the low tire. I cover it with my finger, and the hiss dissipates. I drop down, and put my ear close; yup, it’s the tire, and it’s got a puncture on it. From where it came from, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter at this point, because this tire is now un-driveable with it rapidly losing air, and I had to put on the donut.
Driving home at no faster than 55 mph, a jumble of emotions are going through my head. A part of me was impressed with myself for not going ballistic and wishing death upon the world like I might have once done under such uncontrollable circumstances. I’m certainly glad that this problem was identified and addressed on the slow city streets instead of a highway-speed blowout on I-85, but the other part of me was just flat out bummed out and disgustingly disappointed at the uncontrollable circumstances that led to me having a punctured tire for some reason.
For starters, in order to rectify the problem, I have to hope that the puncture can be patched or plugged, or I’m going to have to replace the tire outright. Either way, it’s not going to be free, and a strip club $20 isn’t going to be quite enough to solve it. I’m also going to have to go through the uncomfortable process of asking for the requisite time off to seek out a solution, which is never any fun. And then I’m betting I’ll have to sit in some garage waiting area for 2-3 hours.
Best case scenario is that despite the odd location of the puncture, it can be patched/plugged, and it won’t cost the equivalent of a slap to the dick. I won’t have to wait severely long, and I’ll get my car back in reasonable time and in as good as condition as it was two days ago.
Worst case scenario is that I’m told that due to the location of the puncture, I’ll need a new tire. And they don’t have it in stock, and won’t until Monday. And that they recommend that I replace two tires, in order to maintain even tread wear. And it will cost me $400. And I”ll have to wait six hours.
When you’re bummed out, it feels like nothing is ever going right. So as much as I really, really, really want to get a best case scenario out of this fucking tire debacle, I can’t say I’ll be particularly shocked if I somehow run into a worst case one.
lol, just as I was finishing writing this, the Braves just imploded, and just allowed six runs to the Yankees in the eighth inning, and after leading 4-0 most of the game, are suddenly down 6-4 with pretty much no time left. The only thing I was feeling good about this evening, right down the toilet. Fuckin’ figures.