I keep saying I'm only going to blog about writing, but then weird and crazy things happen in my life and I have to share. This one involved my car. Yes, now you can probably correctly interpret the title.
Yesterday when driving home we went over a bump. I noticed it. When we got home, my tire seemed a bit low. I figured it was no big deal. I'd fill it up with air in the morning and be on my way.
I put the boys to bed and climbed into bed and this thought popped into my head: That tire is going to leak air all night. You won't be able to go anywhere tomorrow.
Well, thanks for the notice, kind of too late. But I fell asleep with that thought in my mind. As soon as I woke up this morning, I ran outside. Sure enough, my rim was practically kissing the ground. I opened up the back of my car thinking, "I've changed a tire before...once...I can try this." I pulled open the compartment for holding the jack. Wouldn't you know, the jack wasn't there??? Neither were the little wrenchs that go with the jack. Now, it's been over a year since I bought this car, but I'm 90% sure I checked for the jack. Granted, only 90% sure, but that's pretty sure. No idea where it is now.
So I started calling people from church. All the men were at work or on vacation. The Relief Society President told me she'd call around and get back to me. Time starts ticking. I get impatient. Finally I wander over to my neighbor's house. This dear man who hardly speaks any English very graciously accepted my invitation to change my tire.
I drive a Honda Pilot. It's like a mini-SUV. The spare is under the car. We flipped through my manual trying to figure out who to get that spare out, and finally found a little compartment with a rod poking out. If you have the right wrench (the one that comes with the car), you wind that rod and the tire drops down. I, unfortunately, didn't have the right wrench. My neighbor hunted around in his tools and found something that would work.
As soon as the tire comes off, we find the culprit. A giant screw, nut and bolt included. Firmly embedded in my tire. He suggested a little shop where I could get it fixed. I was hesitant but desperate, so with my spare attached, we wandered off.
They spoke enough English to communicate with me and were very nice. They put a nice plug in that tire and it works great. The mechanic had some issues getting the tire back under my car. He just stared at me when I, like an idiot, explained that I didn't have the tools. Yeah. Gonna have to buy some. And then I went to pay. They don't take check. They don't take visa. They only take cash.
As I pulled out of the shop to go to the bank and get cash, I wonder if they wondered if they'd ever see me again.
That was money that I didn't plan on spending. But, since I had the cash now, I took the boys out to Mexican food for lunch.