Jetta Starfighter
I was in need of new tires. So ... just how long can I put this off? I found out the answer to that question. Until you get a nail in one.
Drop everything. Research tires. Locate tires. Call shop make sure they have tires. Put air in tire with nail. Go get tires.
Simple eh? Never.
Wander all the shops within the area. Phone rings. I’m thinking, “Good deal my car is ready.” Nope. They can’t find the tire key, lug nut, whatever thingie.
Walk back to the garage. Look in every possible hiding place for the key. Not there. The guys at the shop ask, “Is your Husband a Star Wars fan?” I laugh and reply, “Nope. That would be me.”
It seems two of the guys are fans. We chat about Star Wars while continuing to look for the key. I ask, “Can’t you just use the Force on these tires?” Answer is no.
Car off rack. Drive home. I find the key in a box usually kept in the trunk, which gets removed while transporting Evan’s (not an inch to spare in the trunk) guitar amp.
Drive back to the garage. Wander the shops on the other side of the road. Buy things I don’t need. An hour and a half later, meander back to the shop, flop down on the curb outside the garage, skinny latte and new book in hand.
So far I have invested around five hours on tires. I am not in the best mood but the day is cool, a light wind is blowing, my car will be ready soon and I am on the home stretch.
My car rolls into sight stopping in front of me. The tire guy steps out in a Vader helm.
Many, many, thanks to the guys for turning a chore gone wrong into a day worth blogging about.
Drop everything. Research tires. Locate tires. Call shop make sure they have tires. Put air in tire with nail. Go get tires.
Simple eh? Never.
Wander all the shops within the area. Phone rings. I’m thinking, “Good deal my car is ready.” Nope. They can’t find the tire key, lug nut, whatever thingie.
Walk back to the garage. Look in every possible hiding place for the key. Not there. The guys at the shop ask, “Is your Husband a Star Wars fan?” I laugh and reply, “Nope. That would be me.”
It seems two of the guys are fans. We chat about Star Wars while continuing to look for the key. I ask, “Can’t you just use the Force on these tires?” Answer is no.
Car off rack. Drive home. I find the key in a box usually kept in the trunk, which gets removed while transporting Evan’s (not an inch to spare in the trunk) guitar amp.
Drive back to the garage. Wander the shops on the other side of the road. Buy things I don’t need. An hour and a half later, meander back to the shop, flop down on the curb outside the garage, skinny latte and new book in hand.
So far I have invested around five hours on tires. I am not in the best mood but the day is cool, a light wind is blowing, my car will be ready soon and I am on the home stretch.
My car rolls into sight stopping in front of me. The tire guy steps out in a Vader helm.
Many, many, thanks to the guys for turning a chore gone wrong into a day worth blogging about.
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