Just Change My Oil, Jerk-Ass.

I discovered a flat tire on my car yesterday. I had pulled out of the garage and onto the street, recognized that the vehicle was not operating appropriately, pulled into the gas station lot across the street and called my husband.

There were two reasons for calling my husband. 1) I needed a quick ride to work and he was working from home, right across the street. 2) I don't know a damn thing about changing tires. Ok, ok. I don't know a damn thing about cars, in general. I've tried understanding cars, but I can't seem to retain the knowledge. I hate representing that stereotypical woman, but unfortunately with this topic, I do.

Anyway, St Pauly Boy drove me to work. Then he went back to the truck, put on the spare tire, and drove down to the Tire Store. At the Tire Store, he ordered me a brand spankin' new tire, which comes in today, and will be replacing the spare with the new tire this afternoon.

Here's what pisses me off. Last Summer, I got a flat tire (same car) while I was en route to bring Stinky Pete to Grandma & Grandpa's house for the weekend while SPB and I went on our annual DMB/Camping excursion in Wisconsin. SPB was in the air, flying home from The OC at the time, so I was on my own. No problem, I can handle this. It was 98 degrees out and humid as shit. Stinky had just come back from a night spent in the Emergency Vet Clinic, after having gotten into some cold medecine. He was just fine after being treated by the wonderful vet but I was still feeling like a nervous mommy and was concerned about leaving him alone for the weekend. Now I've got a flat tire and can't go anywhere until I resolve the issue. So I'm at the Tire Store, with a sick dog, and this piece of metal protuding from my tire. God only knows what this piece of metal was from or how the hell it got stuck in my tire, but whatever, I just needed it to be fixed so I could be on my merry way.

Tire Guy was very nice, he let me bring Stinky into the Tire Store so he wasn't stuck in the hot hot car. They took a look at the tire and told me that they'd try to patch it up but if the patch wasn't good enough, I'd have to buy a new tire. That's totally fine, just get it done, I've got places to be. Then Tire Guy brings another Tire Guy over and the Tire Guys proceed to tell me that because I have 4 wheel drive, I'd have to buy all new tires because if they just replaced one tire, it would mess up the alignment.

Immediately this doesn't sound right to me. Luckily, I didn't have to deal with that option because the patch worked and I was able to drive away without spending $1400 on all new tires.

Now, when SPB went to the Tire Store (same one as I went to) there was absolutely no mention of needing to replace all 4 tires just because of one flat. And you want to know why?? Because he's a man. And men are born with the knowledge that you don't need to replace all of the tires in the case of one flat. Women, on the other hand, are there to be taken advantage of.

It happened to me at an Oil Change Place once too.

It absolutely burns me up to know that they actually do get away with this stuff too. Luckily I was smart enough, not to fall for their shameless ploy. But other women are not.

The funny part of this story involves the 20 minute timeframe where Stinky Pete and I sat on the sidewalk in front of the Tire Store, while they investigate the weird piece of metal in my tire. The street on which the Tire Store resides is a busy one, in an urban area. It also happens to be on the corner of a busy intersection. So Stinky and I were sitting on the sidewalk...correction...I was sitting on the sidewalk, Stinky was attempting to pull my arm out of my socket while I tried to hold his leash, preventing him from running into traffic. As it turns out, Stinky needed to go potty. And I wasn't quick enough to get him to any sort of grassy area. Out comes the poo, onto the sidewalk. Ill prepared for the appropriate disposal of the doggie-doo, I tried to figure out what to do. Wearing my flip flops, I kicked the poo off of the sidewalk and onto the street. I completely understand the dirty looks I got from passers-by and would have exibited the same disgust if I had witnessed the scene myself. But to my defense, they had no idea what kind of day I had. And quite frankly, the kind of day I had was appropriately represented by my poo-flinging actions.

The Tire Guys are just lucky that I didn't have the balls to pick up the poo and throw it in their face.