About two weeks ago Dora started feeling like she was wobbling as I drove. There was a definite back and forth, "I'm a weeble" sensation as I went to and from work. I told the Mister about it, but he reported that when he drove her, there wasn't a notable problem, that Dora was old, and that we'd get her looked at soon. In the mean-time, no worries.
Who knows about cars?
Who knows what's coming already?
So last Friday I'm driving to work, and making the mental note of "the weeble-wobbling has increased to the point that I can't sing along with the radio without my voice warbling a little bit. I think it's officially time to take Dora in."
Of course, this is a thought-process I was having while going 72 miles per hour down the highway. And then, of course (or at least, of course to YOU, because you have the hindsight to know this is not going to end well, and also because if you actually know me in real life you saw my Facebook rant on it), the following happens while looking in my rear-view mirror:
My brain must have known this would be traumatic for me. Because my brain slowed down my thinking enough to process this visual before it processed the boom sound which logically, I know must have been simultaneous.
Dora's tire literally blew the eff up. Her left back tire to be precise. The wobbling I felt had been the giant bubble in the tire that should have been changed but we didn't make serious note of until it was too late.
Thankfully, I only peed my pants a little bit (there's full honesty for you), and I screamed like a little girl, but no one was in the car with me so I saved a bit of dignity there. I managed to pull Dora off to the side of the road, and then, because I'm horrible at anything car related (as you may remember if you've been reading this blog for a while), I just kind of sat there for a bit.
I texted the Mister (because he could reasonably do anything from work a half hour away... or not), and he was kind enough to calm me down as usual.
A very nice police officer was kind enough to pull over and sit with me while we figured out the whole getting the spare put on situation. Which was a doozy, because apparently Dora's previous owners left her spare in her, but took with them the tool needed to get the spare out, and the jack to put the spare on. So in the end a tow truck responded and DID have the proper tools and got me all set and sent me off to work only a mere hour late. I was impressed in any case, because he could have been a jerk who just said "oh no sorry I'll have to tow you so you're even more late to work and so I can charge you a ridiculous amount of money for the service" and I wouldn't have known any better.
If you're the kind of person who might classify as a "gore-monger," (I know I am) and you live in the Kalamazoo area, you can still see a chunk of Dora's tire on 131 headed north, just before the exit for Stadium drive. If you're not, then you can see the rest of the tire as it sits in the back of Dora herself.
Following what I was obviously a near death experience, I got to work and was still pretty keyed up about the whole thing, and so I stole into the bathroom for a second to splash some water on my face and re-center myself. It was here that I discovered that along with ever-so-slightly peeing myself in sheer, unadulterated terror, I had managed to put my underwear on inside-out that morning. We'll just go ahead and call that strike two for the day.
I walked out of the bathroom to find...
Poop. Literally a giant, giant poop pile.
Sometimes walking in a pet store means that the pets who visit have accidents. I understand that. What I don't understand is when someone who has "taken on the responsibility of caring for said pet," lacks enough responsibility to watch their dog take a MASSIVE dookie in the middle of the aisle and then just saunter away from it. Just... RUDE.*
Over the weekend this was posted to DogShaming's
tumblr and it made me seethe with rage.
It shouldn't surprise me how often I happen upon an unattended pile of dog crap while working, but I just can't quite get over it.
Anyway. That was my day. How was yours?
Have you ever gotten a flat?
Is there a good story to go along with it?
Tell me in the comments!
*One more time, with feeling: the views expressed here on this blog do not reflect anyone's opinions but mine. I am not writing here as a representative of my corporate pet-store employer.