Adventures in Feminism or Ouch

Since the in-laws are returning tomorrow from their trip I decided to be the good daughter in-law and freshen the house up a bit for them. I bought a couple of loaves of Panera bread for them, one Raisin and the other Rye. I also bought milk and eggs and put them in an iced cooler for the trip into the city. (as things turned out it was a better idea than I thought.)

I figured I’d drive in, turn on the A/C so the house wouldn’t be too stuffy when they got in; stock the fridge with a couple of basics, cut some flowers from the garden for the dinning table and sort the mail. All in all about a four hour project including driving time.

Well you know what they say about the best laid plans… I get into the burbs on the 88, and then take the 355 south. About 4 miles down the road I hit a bad patch of road, or at least that’s what I think it is. But no, as it turns out the loud roaring sound is coming from my right rear tire which is apparently blown, smoking and shredding onto the cars behind me. I take my foot of the gas and coast to the right shoulder. Of course you know I’m swearing like a sailor. I get out of the car and am reminded that I’m on a major freeway, the rigs passing within two feet of me are rocking the car and the noise is horrendous. The tire is shredded. I get back in the car and experience a brief moment of panic when I have trouble locating my cell phone.

Holding the phone in my hand and wondering who to call. I know that the Auto Club membership expired in July and was not renewed because of the move. I look in the glove box where I have a Ford Roadside Assistance Card and find that it expired 30,000 miles ago. Who am I going to call? J is at work. All of my friends are at work except for T who is home with a migraine.

I go out to the back of the truck and proceed to locate the necessary tire changing equipment. (I am woman hear me roar?) The jack is wedged into its hiding place so tightly that I know I’ll break a few nails trying to get it out. I uncover the spare and unscrew the wing nut holding it in place. As it falls from its hook it lands on my thigh where I am now sporting a nice big bruise. I unroll the instruction sheet that tells me that the lug wrench and jack handles are under the hood (why?) I go around to the front of the vehicle and locate those. Ok, I have assembled my tools but now am having visions of me trying to get the spare out of the back of the truck (without further injury) and the blown tire back in. These tires are almost as big as I am and probably just as heavy. I go to the side of the car and stare at the blown tire. Visions of me losing the feminist of the year award drift through my head. Vision of S being disgusted with my ineptness, helplessness and uselessness drift through my head… Fuck it, I don’t care, that’s why God invented credit cards, so I could pay someone else to do the stuff I don’t want to. Feminists be damned I’m a girl and I don’t change tires!

I dial J’s work number.

When I explain the situation to her she immediately drafts her boyfriend to come to my rescue. But no, I’ve hatched a plan, what I want is the 800 number for the Auto Club (I didn’t have my card on me for the previously mentioned reason). I figure I can call them and feign ignorance about the expiration and see what I can get from them. I call and a man named Ryan is very sympathetic as he explains that I can renew my membership with a credit card over the phone and they’ll send someone right out. The cost is twice what it would cost to have a tow truck come out and change my tire. I explain why I don’t want to pay the exorbitant price to renew the membership and ask for the numbers of a few nearby towing places. To my surprise he actually gives me a few numbers.

After 4 phone calls I finally get someone who is available but ½ hour away. No big, I’ll wait.

20 minutes later Muhammad arrives. He’s attractive in a Middle Eastern sort of way and muscular but probably barely 20. He gets right to work and I’m not sure what to do with myself. I go and perch on the back of the truck to watch him work.

Muhammad is wearing black jeans, a black t-shirt and black work boots. He has that George Clooney look going with the 3 day beard growing in. His hands are black from grease and there are black smudges on his arms and face. The smudges are almost too perfect, almost artistic, like he’s playing the ‘mechanic role’ in this scene. I’m watching him go from where I’m sitting in the back of the truck to the tire trying to remove the stinking hub cap. (I swear the hub cap removal took more time than all the rest of the project combined) As he comes back to where I’m sitting and leans over to get the jack out of the back I'm suddenly looking at his butt. (Bad, I know) I see no plumbers crack but a glimpse of his red Fruit of the Looms (I know they were fruit of the looms because the tag was on the outside of the waist band) this brings a disturbing thought to mind, 'Do guys were their underwear with the tag on the outside and I never knew that or is the boy getting a second wearing on his?’

I could tell I was making him nervous, probably was scaring the poor kid. So I decided to ‘cop a squat’ (watched pretty woman the other night) on the grass on the side of the road and watch from a bit of a distance.

First of all, that lovely green grass that flies past your window as you drive down the highway is not really that lovely. It must be a special breed of grass, specially bred for discomfort to stranded motorists who dare try to rest on it, a sort of disincentive to linger. It was difficult to squat there and watch the boy when the grass was cutting into my bare legs.

Secondly, people are disgusting they’ll throw anything out a car window. Food wrappers, cups, glass bottles (maybe that’s why the grass was so sharp, it’s been watered by glass for years.) poopy baby diapers, disgusting. After a few minutes of that I opted for the shade of the trucks interior. Relatively cool shade and comfortable seating.

It really was quite a quick process once the hubcap came off. The tire was really truly shredded and I was shocked by the force it must have taken to make it look like that. He stuck the skeleton back into the back of the truck. It must have gotten pretty hot when it blew because the inside of the truck smells like burnt rubber now. I’ll have a time getting that smell out of there.

When he was done I gave Muhammad my credit card to pay for the service and a generous tip. He earned it. It was hot and that hubcap was a real bitch to get off. We thanked each other and he road off into the sunset. Ok, no sunset, he just drove off.

I continued my journey but rather nervously. I actually considered just turning around and going home, but I had already purchased food (and thank goodness ice). I drove on toward the in-laws but slower than before. I think I kept waiting for another tire to blow. I completed my task and headed home. I arrived home at 6:30 pm. My estimated time of completion was blown by two hours. Oh well, at least I learned an important lesson.

'When loosening the wing nut on the spare be sure you are well clear of its landing zone.'

The Law

Ok, I was in California for 2 ½ weeks. In that amount of time did they pass a law I don’t know about. I’m confused.

I went to get gas today. (J drove my truck back and forth to the airport and failed to fill it up. Typical) Anyway, went to get gas today, parked in front of the pump got out and started the pump. Now, because I drive a giant gas guzzling truck I usually start the pump and then get back into my car to listen to 10-15 minutes of my current audio book or some music or I balance my checkbook or eat my lunch… So, ok, yes, that’s what I did today.

As I’m sitting in my car giving myself a pedicure, I see a guy walk up to the pump in front of me with a gallon sized milk jug and start to pump gas into it. Now I read the signs on the pumps and I know that that’s a big no-no. It says on the pump that it is illegal to pump gasoline into anything other than an approved container. So of course I hear the attendant in the mini mart speaking over the loud speaker. I assume that she’s relating this tidbit of info to the guy and I continue my pedicure.

Then I hear the voice from above again, this time I listen a bit and hear “…it’s a fire hazard” Still, figure she’s talking to the guy in front of me who, by the way, is still pumping gas and seems oblivious to the voice from above. So, moving on to coat two of polish on my toes.

Then I hear the voice again, this time the guy looks up but looks at me! I look up at the attendant through the window and lean out to listen to the voice. “Pump 5 please get out of your car, returning to your car while the gas is pumping is a fire hazard” Looking at her I must have looked hostile because she then proceeds to threaten me “If you do not get out of your car I’ll have to turn off your pump.” Ok, was that strictly necessary?

What in the hell, did I miss something? Can I go to jail for that? I get out of my car of course but now I’m standing outside with an unfinished pedicure and 8 minutes of time to kill.

Anyone else been accosted in this way? Can anyone shed light on this for me? What? And what about Milk Jug Guy? Why doesn’t he get harassed?