A post in which it is a very frustrating Saturday

I was up waaaay to early this morning, but after breakfast I was able to take a nice nap on the couch. I woke up feeling distinctly lazy, but there was a bunch of stuff I had to do today.

At the top of the list was to get yet another bum tire fixed on the Bomber. Loyal readers will remember that I had one of these year-old tires blow in April. So that's the second one from this set to go bad, after having had no problems at all with the set that came on the car. I was all prepared to really blame the guys who sold me these tires, since I pissed them off by not buying their $70 "road hazard protection" warranty, but it turns out that I just picked up a screw, which could happen to anyone. So I'm still suspicious, but there's nothing I can prove. Unfortunately, although the garage today told me they could have fixed the tire, typically for my luck, their tire machine was broken. But they told me they could plug it. Which was fine with me. I've had plugged tires before, and driven them until the tread wore off of them. So I left after about an hour, glad that I wouldn't have to worry about tire triage (I've been nursing this one along for two weeks now) every time I went out to my car, and ready for my trip to North Carolina next weekend.

Since I was out anyway, I ran over to Whole Foods to get some kombu for a pot of beans I was making today. While I was up there I dropped in to Total Wine to pick up some cooking wine. I've been out for a couple of weeks, and kept putting off stopping on my way home. I felt like shopping, since I had just saved over a hundred dollars by not having to buy a new tire. I went in the shoe place (I'm still looking for a new casually dressy pair of black shoes) but they didn't have anything I liked, and I was running up on my deadline. I had to be home to meet the yard guy at 3.

Headed back home, I felt the familiar feeling of a flat tire. I was thinking "Not again! Already?!" I had looked at the front tires this morning, and they looked a bit low, but I had decided to air them up later. I was thinking that one of them had now gone out. But no, it was the same @#%&()*&^**!! tire. I was really, really angry now; to the point that I threw a Yosemite Sam fit in the parking lot of the gas station near my house, jumping up and down and generally acting like a jackass. I'm sure it was really funny if you weren't me. I resolutely got out the jack, got the tire off the car, and then kicked it for a while, yelling curses on it, it's maker, the guy that sold it to me, it's parents, etc. When that wound down, I put the spare on the car and went home. The yard guy wasn't there.

I went in and called the garage that had "fixed" it that morning. They didn't answer, which was the cause of still another tirade of profanity. Apparently every tire shop in Greenville closes on Saturday about the time civilized people are getting out of bed. Eventually, I just resigned myself to laying down some bucks and called Sears. At least I knew they would be open. The guy at Sears, I have to admit, was pretty great - I was in testy form by the time he had the misfortune to answer my call, but he handled me with great aplomb.

Still no yard guy. As I left to head for Sears, though, I saw him in my rear view mirror. So I turned around and caught him. I was glad for that break anyway. The yard looks awful (David commented on it last night), but it was so dreary and drizzly today that I had resigned myself to letting it go another week.

That done, I got to Sears, pulling in just in time to see Ma and Pa Kettle monopolize the one Sears guy who would actually condescend to help a customer just as I walked in the door. They were looking at car roof-mounted luggage containers. Very carefully. Very slowly. And apparently endlessly. With the exacting caution of the extremely bored. I'm sure this was an interesting adventure for them, but by this point I had four hours in on this Quest, and my patience was pretty much gone. When they began to discuss coming back on Monday to actually purchase this paramount item, I am quite sure my body language betrayed my impatience. Basically I was acting like a bit of an ass. But my frustration was divided, since there were at least four employees lounging in various areas of the department and studiously avoiding my increasing frustration.

When the last possible threadbare nuance of this purchase had been exhausted, Pa Kettle turned from the clerk, gave me a pointed look, and said "You are now free, sir, to help this very impatient young man." I know that old people become increasingly used to their proximity to death. But I don't think this man realized how close he actually was at this point to imminent demise. His life was hanging by a thread. But even at the height of my aggravation, I was still a bit chagrined with the way I was acting, so I just gave him back a good long glare from the edge of sanity and remained silent. Yeah, even I was surprised. But it was taking all my willpower not to go off on the guy in a completely inappropriate manner. Had I opened my mouth, it would have been all over, I would have been ejected from the premises, and, most importantly, I still wouldn't have gotten my tire. So really, silence was the only option.

It turns out that the helpful clerk was the same guy I talked to on the phone. In short order he had evaluated my tire ("Sir, this tire is shot." OK, duh.), checked the rest, rousted a butt-scratcher to begin the work, written up my paperwork, and told me they would have my car ready in thirty minutes. Absolutely astonishingly, it was in fact ready in a half hour(!!).

I had walked over to Jason's Deli for lunch (and thought about Mom, she loves that place). The little garlic toasts on the salad bar were perfect today (sometimes they're a little stale); delightful little crispy rusks. That put me in a bit of a better mood. After the morning I'd had though, I just wanted to go home and hide. So that's what I did. The yard was acceptably neat when I got home too, which was nice. But after such an aggravating start to the day, I was just out of sorts and didn't want to see anyone. I went in, turned on the TV, surrendered to the sofa, and didn't move for a couple of hours.

No one called, and I was frankly not sure enough of my temperament to solicit an invitation. I turned on Who Framed Roger Rabbit, a perennial favorite of mine, and watched it while I did a bit of laundry. And that was that. I stayed in, by myself, on a Saturday night, and put off cleaning the house yet again.