Tire-less?

          Tires. Not complicated items, right?  They’re round and they hold air. So when my right front tire began to leak, we took it in for analysis. Turns out there’s a puncture on the side that can’t be fixed.

          “Hey,” I said, “If we get a new tire then we can be retired!” This was a groaner, I’ll admit. 

          It was a very slow leak, so I drove to America’s Tire. I hung up on a phone call as I drove into the parking lot, and pressed the “hung up phone” picture on my steering wheel. Unfortunately, this button is also the horn. Don’t get me started on the folks who design cars.

All the mechanics looked up, their eyes saying, Geez, have some patience, lady! So now I had to roll down my window and apologize for honking the second I arrived. Then I asked where to go for air.

A guy pointed around the side of the building, where I drove, but I didn’t quite drive over the hose that dings to let them know I need air. So I’m sitting there, sweltering, and finally got out of my car and asked for help.

Eventually a guy came and measured each tire’s air pressure. Naturally the one I told him had a problem was the one with the most air in it. He stared at me like I’m some kind of idiot. Then he glanced at my arm, which looks like I’m a drug addict.

In fact, I had an MRI and then blood work this week, both of which were less embarrassing than this trip to the tire shop. Finally I left, and am now adding this place to the list of places where I cannot show my face again. Or my arms. Or my car or its tires. Sheesh.

A good way to hide when you're embarrassed, is to keep your nose in one of my books. See? You're already multi-tasking.