Pumping you up

Hey, it’s Wednesday, and by this time in the week, you might be feeling a bit…flat. Not to worry! Your good buddy Dave is here to pump you up. So, take a moment to kick back, sip your coffee, and let me air out this humorous gem. After all, life can be deflating at times, so we need all the fun, smiles, and humor we can get to help us through it all.

Not so long ago, in a galaxy not so far away…

While riding shotgun in my friend’s SUV on a chilly, sunny December morning, his dashboard lit up with alarms, and the steering wheel vibrated in his hands.

“Crap. We have a flat tire,” he said.

He activated the hazard lights, pulled the leaning Toyota to the side of the road, and reached for his cell phone.

“What are you doing?” I said.

“I’m calling AAA,” he said.

“AAA?” I said.

“Yeah, you know, the American Automobile Association?”

I shot him my most withering no kidding look. “Why? It’s just a flat tire, and the day is beautiful. We’ve got this.”

“Well… I’ve never changed a flat tire before.”

“Oh, my god. You’ve never changed a flat tire?”

He shook his head.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Like that part in A Christmas Story, where Ralphie helps his dad with the lug nuts.”

He shrugged, with no hint of recognition.

“You know: ‘Oh, fudge! Only I didn’t say fudge. I’d said the big F, dash, dash, dash’?”

Another blank stare.

“Alrighty then. After I’m done regaling you with my very first flat tire incident, we’re going to change your tire and update your must-see holiday movie list.”

“If you say so.” He looked at his phone. “Is this little story going to take long?”

“Listen and learn, my friend.”

“Lead on, McDuff.” He checked his rearview and sipped his coffee.

After staring into the middle distance for a moment, I extracted the appropriate memory from my brain’s hard drive and began.

“There I was, mid-December, and late for a holiday party, when my rear tire blew out. I pulled to the side of the icy road and forced my door open against the howling wind. Stinging fingers of sleet attacked my face as I slipped and slid toward the trunk of my car, where the spare tire and all the necessary tools resided.

Once there, I realized I forgot the key to said trunk, so I pulled myself along the vehicle, wrenched the driver’s door open, and retrieved the keys.

Of course, I’d left my gloves on the kitchen counter earlier that evening, so my hands were nearly numb when I finally made it back to the trunk. I dropped the damn keyring three times before I was able to insert the key and turn it clockwise.

My wet hands stuck to the tire iron and tiny scissor jack just like Scott Schwartz’s tongue stuck to the flagpole, yet I pressed on. Trying to read the directions for how and where I was supposed to place the jack to raise my car up was nearly impossible in the inclement weather, so I gave up and forced the unit under the rear fender and started cranking.

Naturally, the fender bent with each pound of pressure I applied to the thin metal, but the rig started lifting up, so I didn’t care.”

My friend pulled a plastic card from his wallet. “Uh-huh.”

I carried on, undeterred.  

“Once I had the vehicle high enough for the tire to clear the ground, I attempted to loosen the lug nuts with the rusty, World-War-Two-vintage tire iron, the kind that’s bent at a ninety-degree-angle on one end, and sports a lethal-looking flat blade on the other.

Then, as the tire spun in the air, I remembered I needed to have the tire touching the ground before I could start wrenching. It’s a friction thing.”

He yawned. “You don’t say.”  

“I do say. Okay, once I had the tires touching the ground once more, I broke a few blood vessels in my forehead trying to loosen the frozen chrome demons from the rim. Failing at that, I jumped on it with both feet, slipped, and fall hard onto my tailbone.”

“Hello, AAA?”  He nodded at me to continue.

I pressed on, lost in my tragic, traumatic tale.    

“This accomplished, I limped over and emptied the contents of my overflowing trunk to find the 10-inch diameter emergency spare tire located under the carpeted cardboard cover. You know the one, about the same size as one of my kid’s bicycle tires.”

“That’s right. Before exit 20 on 93 North.”

“Regardless, I installed the tiny rubber circle, forgetting the tire-in-the-air-spinning-while-wrenching thing again. I lowered the car―while uttering a few choice words that would have made Ralphie’s dad blush―and tightened the lug nuts. By now, I could barely feel my extremities, and when I retreated into the shelter of the driver’s seat, I needed to use both hands to turn the key in the ignition. I drove off in the lopsided car, hoping to God I’d make it the 50 miles rated on the undersized spare tire, leaving the jack, tools and all the contents of my trunk forgotten in the snow.”

“That’s great, I’ll see you in half an hour.” He pushed the off button on his phone and looked at me.  “I’ve got more hot coffee in my thermos and some homemade chocolate chip cookies. We might as well be comfortable while we wait. It’s awful cold out there.”

I blinked, shook my head, stared at him, and then looked out the window. I was so lost in the past that I hadn’t noticed the sky was now overcast and looking like it would snow. “Yeah, you may be right…”

Sitting there, munching, sipping, and watching the first of many snowflakes fluttering onto the windshield, I said, “So, how do I join AAA?”

Thanks for tuning in to my tale from yesteryear folks. You younger readers will have no idea what I’m talking about, so feel free to seek out the nearest adult over the age of forty and they’ll explain it to you. They’re likely nodding their heads in agreement right now.

Once again, no matter how deflated you feel on any given day, always make room for humor…and chocolate chip cookies.

Until next time, whatever you are, stay safe and be a good one!

-Dave