A Busted Tire, A Dented Rim and a Long Drive Home

Today, my lunch break ended dramatically.  I hit a pothole.

You see, this pothole has been in this location a very long time.  I knew it was there.  But, today, I hit it.  Today there was an oncoming car in the other lane and stopping was out of the question, so in that split-second decision between pothole and hitting another car head-on, I chose pothole.  I probably made the wrong choice.

The thud as my car landed back onto the ground after sailing in the air was as deflating as my tire (and my wallet and my pride and well, you get the point) was about to be.

I pulled over to get out and survey the damage.  The tire had already sunken.  Panic set in as I called my husband (who was 4 hours away from me).  He didn't pick up.

Then, I looked up.  Like a mirage in the desert, there was a tire place right beside where I pulled my car off the road.  I carefully rolled it into the parking lot.

After waiting about an hour, I learned that I would need a new rim and four new tires.  Apparently, the tires in my year-old car were so worn down that all of them needed to be replaced.  They could have it back to me tomorrow.

Problem.  I work an hour and a half away from home.  No one could come get me or take me home.  So, I paid them a $10 fee and let them put my spare on.

Going 50 miles an hour makes my ride home completely unbearable.  Everyone passed me as if I was standing still.  I had to set my cruise so I could successfully suppress my lead-foot urges.

I finally got a hold of J, who called the dealership.  They could work me in, so I limped into the parking lot a couple of hours later.  Okay, maybe just two hours, but going 50 miles an hour will not only put me half to sleep - it puts my sense of time way off.

4 hours later (and this time I'm sure about the time), the service guy came and gently broke the news to me that my rim was dented beyond repair by the dealership.  He recommended a specialty place in the hopes that we could save the outrageous expense of ordering a new one.

So, now I'm in a rental car for who-knows-how-long.

Stupid pothole.


Jenn said...

Um, the pothole is right outside the car repair shop? Coincidence? Just sayin'.

Grammy Blick said...

I had Jenn's thought, too. Wonder how long it takes to create a good pothole? Is it old enough that the shop came second?

Inquiring minds have to ask.