I did not take my flat to be fixed last night. All I wanted to do was see my chiropractor, go home and lie in my big yellow chair watching DVDs. Every muscle from my thighs to my shoulders hurt. (If I changed a tire a day, I would have gluts like J Lo in no time.)
My plan was to go to work today, go to the post office, go to Big-O and get my tire fixed. I should have rubbed some dirt on the pain and went yesterday because this morning when I got up, the other back tire was low. “Grr.” I thought, and drove to the nearest gas station to get air. I removed the air-tube cap and the tire said “Fffffft…..” It deflated like a child learning that there is no Santa. No amount of coaxing would induce it to refill.
A crowd of men in robes and sandals came by and asked “Who sinned? This woman or her parents that her car is rendered lame?” A voice from heaven answered “No one has sinned. These things have come to pass that God might be glorified.” Laying hold on this eternal truth, I girded up my loins (a.k.a. buttoned my vintage DKNY brocade jacket that I got for $10 at a thrift shop) and started making phone calls. The solution came in the form of my pastor’s wife on her way into town with cousins and kids. See? We are never left comfortless! I left my car at the gas station and walked the rest of the way to work, reveling in the sunshine that was beaming its way through the crisp autumn air.
After about an hour, I met my rescuers at the gas station where we pulled off the tire and drove off to Big-O. I sat by Jessica who had a stuffed rabbit in her hoody and obligingly helped me drink my Arnold Palmer. The tires were fixed~~ nail in one, leaky bead seal on the other. Back to the gas station we flew, stopping first to break into my apartment because I had locked all my keys in the car. Fortunately I left a window unlocked and could climb in through the ficus tree and over the yellow chair. I may be slightly scatter-brained, I may invite the drama, but you can’t deny that I’m entertaining.
I’m pursuaded that all things work together for good, even a thing like two mornings of flats. If the only good was that the gas station attendant got to see me laughing my way through trouble instead of cursing, well, I accept that. I stop there all the time and she will remember me. $12 is not too high a price for a soul, I think.
As I left the gas station parking lot, Selah began warbling out “God Blessed the Broken Road.” I’m still working on the relevance of that…..
Friday, September 5, 2008
This Day Must Hold Something Good
It has to because it has already had all the trouble that I want before 7:30. On my way to the chiropractor to realign my neck, which has been thrown off by stress, the gentle whoosh of rubber to pavement turned to a ka-womp ka-womp. Flat tire! I know that sound well from living on gravel roads and driving fast.
I turn into the gas station and get out to look. Yes, flat tire…. flat in much Donald Trump’s hair isn’t. I think about calling my pastor or the deacon of the church to see if they happen to be in town because I am in DKNY and stretch cotton. But it’s 6:45 and I can change a tire. I go into the gas station to ask for a cardboard box to sit on and there is a man behind the counter! I’m saved!! But when I ask for a box and explain why I need it, the hand-flapping and “OMG-ing” starts. I’d almost swear he shrunk about 12 sizes from fear. I am not saved, but he’s earned a place in my blog. Where is a man in his 50’s when you need one? They always change your tire. They don’t even ask if you want them to, they just do it.
My beer box and I return to the scene of the trauma and proceed to operate on my wounded car. And oh! the lugnuts! The turny thing won’t turn them. I want to cry. I sit down and I feel the hot tears prickling behind my eyes, but an Indian guy comes by on a bike and loosens them for me. I hope that he will stay and finish the job, but he is on his own way to work, so I am grateful for the help he does give. A turning of the lugs, a lugging of the tires, and a tiring of my muscles and I’m done. Not a broken nail or a smudge of dirt on my clothes!
But I’m hungry now and thirsty. I don’t think the yogurt in my purse is going to suffice for breakfast. Gas station food is not really food, but sometimes they put things like sausage and cheese on bagels and heat them up warm. These I like and these they have. And they have Arizona tea and lemonade mixed in a 99 cent can! Ummy!! I can even overlook Arnold Palmer on the can. Yes, he’s there in all his club swinging glory. I learn from the can that he loved tea and lemonade so much that the drink became known as the Arnold Palmer. It couldn’t have been Vin Deisel? No, I don’t suppose it could have…. None of it could have…..
I turn into the gas station and get out to look. Yes, flat tire…. flat in much Donald Trump’s hair isn’t. I think about calling my pastor or the deacon of the church to see if they happen to be in town because I am in DKNY and stretch cotton. But it’s 6:45 and I can change a tire. I go into the gas station to ask for a cardboard box to sit on and there is a man behind the counter! I’m saved!! But when I ask for a box and explain why I need it, the hand-flapping and “OMG-ing” starts. I’d almost swear he shrunk about 12 sizes from fear. I am not saved, but he’s earned a place in my blog. Where is a man in his 50’s when you need one? They always change your tire. They don’t even ask if you want them to, they just do it.
My beer box and I return to the scene of the trauma and proceed to operate on my wounded car. And oh! the lugnuts! The turny thing won’t turn them. I want to cry. I sit down and I feel the hot tears prickling behind my eyes, but an Indian guy comes by on a bike and loosens them for me. I hope that he will stay and finish the job, but he is on his own way to work, so I am grateful for the help he does give. A turning of the lugs, a lugging of the tires, and a tiring of my muscles and I’m done. Not a broken nail or a smudge of dirt on my clothes!
But I’m hungry now and thirsty. I don’t think the yogurt in my purse is going to suffice for breakfast. Gas station food is not really food, but sometimes they put things like sausage and cheese on bagels and heat them up warm. These I like and these they have. And they have Arizona tea and lemonade mixed in a 99 cent can! Ummy!! I can even overlook Arnold Palmer on the can. Yes, he’s there in all his club swinging glory. I learn from the can that he loved tea and lemonade so much that the drink became known as the Arnold Palmer. It couldn’t have been Vin Deisel? No, I don’t suppose it could have…. None of it could have…..
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