Up some sort of friggin creek without a Cougar
Today is Friday, one of my more favorite days of the week. I should be out and about, trolling around town, perhaps on a hot date. Instead, I’m at home in my apartment without a mode of transportation and my evening driving somewhere between here and Pueblo (about 2 hours away).
I left work around 3, giddy at the prospect of the weekend ahead of me; actually, I had a headache and felt a little ill, but I was still excited to go home. Visions of taking a nap danced in my head. As I was pulling up to my apartment, I nudged the curb with my tire. Those of you who have driven with me (at all) will know that I do on occasion attack poor defenseless curbs. But this was no ordinary curb, oh no. This curb attacked back. I got out of my car nonchalantly and heard the unmistakable hiss of air leaving the front passenger tire. Crap! (I’m pretty sure my expletive was a bit more colorful, you know, like “Shoot!” or “Oh drat!”)
Always the stubborn and resourceful gal, I called no one (never mind that Eric was on his way to Pueblo to help a friend move and Shaw was still at work). I calmly walked inside, put on more suitable clothes (no way was I going to attempt to change a tire in my high heels) and marched back out to Sydney (my Cougar). I pulled out the ingredients: tire iron, jack, spare tire. I popped the hubcap off. I placed the tire iron over the first lug nut. The foot-long tire iron I might add. I turned counterclockwise with all my might. Nothing happened (nothing other than my grunting and me imagining myself as Mr. T. “I piddy da fool who can’t break loose wheel lugs.” Turns out that fool is me). I stood on the darn lug nuts and…nada. No movement. Granted, I might have been more successful with a bigger/longer tire iron, but that was a moo point (you know, a cow’s opinion) seeing as how I wasn’t going to go driving to the nearest auto store to purchase one.
So, what did I do? I called a tow truck. I learned this lesson in December when I had a flat tire (during that venture my dad and I couldn’t get the lug nuts off, but we thought that was because they were rusted on…well they were…then). This was in the middle of a huge snowstorm and instead of wrestling with the car and further, we called a tow truck.
That magical solution seemed to work just fine for me tonight as well. They towed my car to the nearest tire place. Unfortunately, Firestone didn’t call me about it until around 6. Clearly they were not going to take a look at it tonight. The best I was going to get was for them to catch a looksey tomorrow a.m. So now I’m stuck at home with no Cougar and my Friday night plans (Eric) on his way back from Pueblo.
Blargh, Friday night boredom!
I left work around 3, giddy at the prospect of the weekend ahead of me; actually, I had a headache and felt a little ill, but I was still excited to go home. Visions of taking a nap danced in my head. As I was pulling up to my apartment, I nudged the curb with my tire. Those of you who have driven with me (at all) will know that I do on occasion attack poor defenseless curbs. But this was no ordinary curb, oh no. This curb attacked back. I got out of my car nonchalantly and heard the unmistakable hiss of air leaving the front passenger tire. Crap! (I’m pretty sure my expletive was a bit more colorful, you know, like “Shoot!” or “Oh drat!”)
Always the stubborn and resourceful gal, I called no one (never mind that Eric was on his way to Pueblo to help a friend move and Shaw was still at work). I calmly walked inside, put on more suitable clothes (no way was I going to attempt to change a tire in my high heels) and marched back out to Sydney (my Cougar). I pulled out the ingredients: tire iron, jack, spare tire. I popped the hubcap off. I placed the tire iron over the first lug nut. The foot-long tire iron I might add. I turned counterclockwise with all my might. Nothing happened (nothing other than my grunting and me imagining myself as Mr. T. “I piddy da fool who can’t break loose wheel lugs.” Turns out that fool is me). I stood on the darn lug nuts and…nada. No movement. Granted, I might have been more successful with a bigger/longer tire iron, but that was a moo point (you know, a cow’s opinion) seeing as how I wasn’t going to go driving to the nearest auto store to purchase one.
So, what did I do? I called a tow truck. I learned this lesson in December when I had a flat tire (during that venture my dad and I couldn’t get the lug nuts off, but we thought that was because they were rusted on…well they were…then). This was in the middle of a huge snowstorm and instead of wrestling with the car and further, we called a tow truck.
That magical solution seemed to work just fine for me tonight as well. They towed my car to the nearest tire place. Unfortunately, Firestone didn’t call me about it until around 6. Clearly they were not going to take a look at it tonight. The best I was going to get was for them to catch a looksey tomorrow a.m. So now I’m stuck at home with no Cougar and my Friday night plans (Eric) on his way back from Pueblo.
Blargh, Friday night boredom!
See, if you lived in Iowa you wouldn't have had to do that. I keep a battery powered impact wrench under my back seat and a full set of impact sockets so I'd have had that bad boy off in a jiffy. :D Reason number one to move back here! I hope your Friday night didn't turn out as boring as it sounded it would be...
Posted by
~Wamp |
8:26 AM