I’m not sure if it’s due to too much summer heat or what, but it seems as if everyone I talk to lately has recently had to buy four new tires for their vehicles, which can be pretty pricy, depending on the size.
I hardly drive anywhere, so my tires probably will need to be replaced due to dry rot, if anything, at some point. But I clearly can recall a flat tire I had back in 2002 that led to the purchase of not just one new tire, but all four.
I was in a hurry that day to get to the post office before it closed, so I rushed out to my car, jumped in and started to back out of the driveway. That’s when I heard a loud scraping sound…a fingernails on the chalkboard kind of sound. Even worse, the steering wheel suddenly felt as if it weighed 500 pounds.
I pulled the car back into the driveway and got out to have a look, even though I had absolutely no idea what I was looking for, or what I’d do when I found it. Still, I figured that unless I was dragging a dead body underneath the wheels, it couldn’t be all that bad.
But alas, there on the front passenger’s side, was the flattest tire I had ever seen. Not only was it flat, it also was hanging off the rim. I just stood there staring at it, as if I thought it somehow was going to miraculously re-inflate itself so I still could make it to the post office. When nothing happened, I called AAA.
The AAA guy, driving a tow truck large enough to tow a Greyhound bus, arrived within 15 minutes. Silently, he jacked up my car, removed the flat, and slid on the tiny “donut” spare tire. Everything was going along smoothly until he began to tighten the second lug nut. That’s when the car slipped off the jack and landed right on his foot – or so I thought. I held my breath and closed my eyes.
But instead of the screams of pain I’d anticipated, the guy said, not sounding the least bit flustered, “Your driveway is too soft.”
I opened one eye to discreetly check out his foot and was relieved to see it still was attached to his body and wasn’t crushed or grossly disfigured.
“Your back tire has a slow leak, too,” he added. “You’d better go get some new tires, pronto. Oh, and I’d advise you not to go any faster than 45 miles per hour on that spare tire. It’s not made for high speeds.”
So I headed to Sears for two new tires. The problem was, there was no way to get there without traveling on Route 28, where the posted speed limit at that time was 60 mph. That meant most of the drivers averaged about 70-150 mph.
I crawled down the highway at 40 miles per hour, just to be extra safe. I had no idea what would happen if I did go over 45, but the AAA guy’s tone of voice had implied it probably would involve a lengthy stay in intensive care.
Visions of my tire disintegrating into a pile of rubberized confetti and my car wrapping itself around a tree in a pasture full of angry bulls made me drop my speed even a few notches lower, despite the fact that a long line of cars was tailing me by that time. When two of the cars finally seized the opportunity to pass me, one of the drivers gave me a hand gesture that did not exactly translate into “Gee, you’re a really terrific, safe driver!”
A hundred years later, I finally pulled into the parking lot at Sears. I heaved a sigh of relief.
“I need two new tires,” I told the clerk. “The cheapest ones you have.”
“Let’s go outside and take a look,” he said, smiling. I led him out to my car.
He checked all four tires, scribbled down a few things on a pad of paper, and said “hmm” a lot. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned during all of my years on this earth, it’s that “hmm” rarely leads to anything good.
“You actually passed inspection with these tires?” he asked. “I’m surprised you could even stay on the road with them, they’re so slick. They barely have any tread left on them!”
I glanced at my back tires…my nice, smooth, shiny tires. They looked just fine to me.
“Then what you’re telling me is I’ll need four new tires, instead of only two?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
He nodded. “We have some nice all-season Michelins on sale for $69.99,” he said. “They’re guaranteed for 65,000 miles.”
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing…not just because I knew my car never would last another 65,000 miles unless the “new-car fairy” came along and reincarnated it, but also because the clerk had said, “$69.99.” Heck, for the sake of one lousy penny, wouldn’t it have been easier for him to just drop all of the “9s” and say they were 70 bucks each?
At the time, there was a highly publicized, nationwide recall on Firestone tires due to complaints about the rubber treads separating from the underlying steel belts. So keeping a straight face, I said to the clerk, “No, I don’t want Michelins. I really prefer Firestones.”
He rolled his eyes, groaned and laughed. “You don’t know what kind of week I’ve had, thanks to those darned tires! If I never hear the name Firestone again, it will be too soon!”
So I went with the Michelins. Granted, spending $280 I hadn’t planned on spending, especially for something as boring as tires, didn’t thrill me, but I figured I had little choice. So what if I had to cut corners and eat a lot of canned spaghetti and Ramen noodles for a while? At least I’d be able to drive myself to the Dollar Store on safe tires.
Back inside Sears, the clerk began to ring up my work order. “That will be an additional $9.99 per tire to balance them,” he said. “And $3.99 per tire for valve stems. And $7.50 per tire for our road-hazard agreement. Oh, and another $1.50 per tire for the disposal of your old ones.”
While I stood there, my mouth hanging open as I mentally tried to add up all of the extras, the clerk took a phone call.
“No, sir,” he said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes once again. “Only the Firestone tires are being recalled. You don’t have to return your mud flaps. I’m sure they’re perfectly safe.”
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. For some reason, the thought of “killer” mud flaps really struck me funny. When the clerk hung up the phone, he started laughing, too…and he was still laughing when he told me my final total for the tires was $371.88.
The guy sure knew how to ruin a good laugh.
# # #
Sally Breslin is an award-winning syndicated humor columnist who has written regularly for newspapers and magazines all of her adult life. She is the author of several novels in a variety of genres, from humor and romance to science-fiction. Contact her at: sillysally@att.net.
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