Where’s the News?

The worst way, in my opinion, to start a post is to write about the worst way to start a post. Am I right?

The second worst way is to talk about flat tires. So, the tire light in my car lit up a while ago. I assumed it was low pressure caused by the drop in temperature. I know that’s a thing. Every so often, I think about air pressure. It may be because of all my years spent as a flight attendant. Whatever the reason, my knowledge of physical science is why I ignored the tire warning light and instead scheduled the next available time slot for my annual tire rotation. These are pretty new tires, good tread. [wink] (That’s how car lingo works. You say it then end with a wink.)

I have no choice but to use the store that sold me the tires. Free rotation is part of the deal, and free is better than fee. They couldn’t fit me in for a couple of days. No problem. I kept driving with that red light on and, after a while, I couldn’t see it. It was like those optical illusion books that have you stare at a dot until it turns into a unicorn or something. I’d glare at the road in front of me for so long the light disappeared. Magic. It was still lit up.

The morning I had scheduled a lobotomy, [Is she serious?] I walked to the garage and around my car to get in the drivers side, which I typically do. If I entered via the passenger’s side, I’d have to climb over the gearshift.

Oh, look. I have a flat tire.

This just happened two years ago, so I didn’t panic. I cleared all my appointments. The tattoo sleeve, hair extensions, and tongue piercing will all have to wait.

Then I did something stupid, considering my spinal problems. I changed the tire. “It’s easy,” I told myself because when there is no one around, I can talk to myself without fear of contradiction.

How? How, what, the tire? I placed the metal stick thing on the bolt, then stood on it and bounced. I continued to bounce until it came loose. Four bolts. Then I added the long metal hook and attached it to the stick thing and started spinning to unscrew them. More spiraling with the same tool combo to jack up my ride. Flat tire off, Siri says a sub compact car tire only weighs around 15 lbs. I carefully tossed it in the trunk, then put the bicycle size spare tire on by doing it all in reverse. Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce to secure four bolts tight, spin, spiral, spin, the car is down. I stuck the landing! 10! 10! 10! I really should do an instructional YouTube video.

If I end this post now, it will have been the most riveting ever written by anyone. Am I right?

There’s more.

As I drove to the shop I felt the results of my earlier tire changing activities. My lower back seized and my right leg became angry-stabbing, numb, cramps, repeat.

Somehow I arrived at the tire shop and gave the employee my keys. When I turned toward the waiting area it all came back to me. Fox News blared. Like, you know that scene from “Silence of the Lambs” when the warden is blasting a televangelist’s sermon to punish Hannibal Lecter? It was that loud.

There was one vacant seat. Guess where I sat. No, not on the table. I took in the open seat. The pain continued while I waited for my tires. I looked around and realized two things. 1. These are not my people. 2. Everyone was so high on rubber tire fumes that no one noticed my occasional grunts of agony and leg jerks.

I don’t remember how I got home. I have all my tires, none flat. When I snapped out of my daze… Oh my God! Ow, my back, and I’m worried that I’ve been under some type of mind control. I don’t think I was in there long enough to accidentally vote Republican in the next election.

I need to reschedule that lobotomy.

I tried to open this post with the tire story then tie it into the news; this was my opening. I think I’ll close here, maybe do the news tomorrow. If it’s still relevant.