I went out to my Jeep this morning and it had a flat tire. You'd think after putting air in it every day for a month, it would have plenty to spare. The good news is that it went flat in my driveway, not in the parking lot of the Sugar Shack.
From the driveway, I only had to drive half
a mile to my mechanic, Mr. Moon from Korea, who bows when he presents
my bill. One of his uniformed assistants found the HUGE HOLE causing the flat, using the time honored ancient Korean method of
squeezing soapy liquid around the tire until the leak started blowing
bubbles everywhere -- like when a baby has a cold and blows those huge
mucous balloon things out of its nose. Tire farts.
The large size of the hole was probably caused by the rim of the wheel
slicing into the tire like a knife as it rotated on the short drive
from my house to Mr. Moon's place of business. I originally thought that driving
the car fast on the way over would help keep the tire from touching the ground too much,
so it wouldn't get more damaged. Guess it didn't work.
After announcing that I had a flat tire as I drove up, Mr. Moon
continued to state the obvious. It needs air he said after finding the
hole. So he pumped
extra air into it, along with providing a temporary plug that looked
remarkably like a stick of Pupperoni. Now I could get to the Just Tires
place for a replacement without listing to the right.
Not that I was supposed to be downtown working during all this or
anything. Nothing a couple of phone calls couldn't fix, of
course. Maybe I should have made them. Kidding.
The damaged tire held up perfectly for the three mile trip to Just
Tires, thanks to Mr. Moon's twelve years of experience working as a
mechanic for the American Army. And watching re-runs of MASH.
Meanwhile I was calculating what a new tire was going to cost. I
figured probably around $150. But this was Just Tires, whose
is, It's Just Money. After the manager carefully inspected the tires on
my car by looking up when they were purchased, he suddenly realized
that I had another problem. While typing on his keyboard, he somehow
ascertained there were hairline cracks in my remaining tires, which
they could give out at anytime. And he
wouldn't feel right sending me down the road with just the one new tire
now thatall of them were at risk.
Miraculously, this frightening discovery coincided with a lucky
happenstance: Just Tires was having a SALE on TIRES -- the very ones
that would fit my car.
Who said that service is a thing of the past?
I rather enjoyed the reason they were on sale. It wasn't because of
March Madness, St. Patrick's Day, Seasonal Affective Disorder, or any
national promotion you might expect. The manager shrugged his shoulders and said, "Yeah. I
guess they are on sale because they made too many." They made too
many? Perhaps nobody wants to buy them. The thought crossed my mind.
But it went away after I convinced myself I got a deal. Almost forty
per cent off tires nobody wants? I'm in. Throw in the five
year or 50,000 mile lifetime replacement guarantee too. Add a couple of
new thingys you need to hook up the air hose to. Don't forget the
service fee for
getting rid of the old tires. Then buy lunch for the tire changing crew and we're good
Actually, I really could tell the difference immediately on the road today. Nobody
was honking at me and pointing towards the ground in the area of my
right bumper and making the universal pancake gesture for you've got a flat
I also love how the GOODYEAR WRANGLER lettering glows in the dark when the Jeep is parked.