Tuedays - Ready to Roll
Mar. 11th, 2008 02:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermoreToday on my drive into work, I was thinking that it never occurred to me that there might be a line at a tire shop at 8 o'clock in the morning. Turns out, I was wrong. When you need new tires for your car, you need new tires. When, for example, you run over a ¼ inch bolt (with a washer still attached) like I did last night, you can't count on your tire to still have air in it if you continue to drive on it. So you take a picture and email it to your boss and co workers, with a little note not to expect you too early, and then figure that you should be in and out, because who needs a tire (besides you?) first thing in the morning.
In a city like Houston, where you must have a car to go anywhere, it turns out that a lot of people do.
When you show up at the tire shop at 7:50 thinking you are going to be the first one in the parking lot, you are in for a rude awakening. There are several other vehicles there, all backed into their spaces for faster servicing. The doors to the tire shop are locked, so everyone sits behind their steering wheels smoking cigarettes, talking on their cell phones, and listening to their radios. The tire store employees eye all of us through the glass, glancing at their watches. Sure, they could open the doors and let us line up at the counter. They just don't want to.
So I sit listing to a really interesting story on NPR, when I look up at 3 minutes until 8 and notice that all of the other drivers have left their cars and are moving toward the door. Rats! I won't be first in line. I won't even be second in line. I will be there for the next hour.
"8 until 6?" I asked my husband last night as we looked on the computer screen at the hours to the tire store. "Those are office hours, like a doctor. I figured they'd have retail hours, like a drug store or a Starbucks."
"I guess they know that when you need a tire, you really need a tire. They don't have to be convenient," he said. "You don't have to go to a drug store or a Starbucks if you don't want to. Without tires, you can't go anywhere."
"Bastards," I said. I was kind of hoping I could get the tire fixed last night until I realized they basically work the same hours I do.
This left me no choice but to start off my day at the tire shop. Even after I made it to the front counter, I was a low priority. This tire shop sold me my tire in the first place, and by their own rules they had have to fix it for free. This means I rank below the people buying new tires, but above anyone coming in to drop off copies of The Watchtower.
I sit, wait, and play a game on my cell phone. The woman next to me is talking on hers. She drives a company car, which she learned from the guy at the counter that her company was no longer willing to put tires on for her.
"The vendor said the service has been discontinued," she said, "Can you check on that for me? I mean, it's a fleet car. Aren't they supposed to be the ones who maintain a fleet car?" She sighed. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, not with the way business has been. They're cutting everything – salaries, perks, people. I guess I'll pay for the tires myself, if I have to. But look into it for me, will you?"
Thank goodness the people in Washington say there isn't a recession and that the economy is fine, I think. After all, people are still buying food and tires, so how bad could things be?
A guy in a beige Dodge truck is on his cell phone, calling around to see if he can buy a new rim for his truck cheaper than the one the tire store will sell him. The guy behind the counter has told him it will be $500, and he does not look pleased. He announces he wants to check with a wrecking yard before he agrees to the price. He calls a friend to see if he can recommend a place.
Then I hear my last name being shouted.
"Erickson!" Tire shop guys are a lot like high school gym coaches, in that they have no use for first names.
I stand up quickly, anxiously, like an expectant father outside of a maternity ward, and he walks toward me holding my keys out in front of him.
"We patched you up and you're ready to go," he says, pointing to my car parked in front of the door. "We also checked the air in all of your other tires for you. Have a nice day."
I tell him to do the same, and head to work. I will have the roads almost to my self, because rush hour is over. I am the proud owner of a 4 healthy tires with no holes in them, so my day should be nice,just like the one the tire doctor ordered me to have.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
In a city like Houston, where you must have a car to go anywhere, it turns out that a lot of people do.
When you show up at the tire shop at 7:50 thinking you are going to be the first one in the parking lot, you are in for a rude awakening. There are several other vehicles there, all backed into their spaces for faster servicing. The doors to the tire shop are locked, so everyone sits behind their steering wheels smoking cigarettes, talking on their cell phones, and listening to their radios. The tire store employees eye all of us through the glass, glancing at their watches. Sure, they could open the doors and let us line up at the counter. They just don't want to.
So I sit listing to a really interesting story on NPR, when I look up at 3 minutes until 8 and notice that all of the other drivers have left their cars and are moving toward the door. Rats! I won't be first in line. I won't even be second in line. I will be there for the next hour.
"8 until 6?" I asked my husband last night as we looked on the computer screen at the hours to the tire store. "Those are office hours, like a doctor. I figured they'd have retail hours, like a drug store or a Starbucks."
"I guess they know that when you need a tire, you really need a tire. They don't have to be convenient," he said. "You don't have to go to a drug store or a Starbucks if you don't want to. Without tires, you can't go anywhere."
"Bastards," I said. I was kind of hoping I could get the tire fixed last night until I realized they basically work the same hours I do.
This left me no choice but to start off my day at the tire shop. Even after I made it to the front counter, I was a low priority. This tire shop sold me my tire in the first place, and by their own rules they had have to fix it for free. This means I rank below the people buying new tires, but above anyone coming in to drop off copies of The Watchtower.
I sit, wait, and play a game on my cell phone. The woman next to me is talking on hers. She drives a company car, which she learned from the guy at the counter that her company was no longer willing to put tires on for her.
"The vendor said the service has been discontinued," she said, "Can you check on that for me? I mean, it's a fleet car. Aren't they supposed to be the ones who maintain a fleet car?" She sighed. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, not with the way business has been. They're cutting everything – salaries, perks, people. I guess I'll pay for the tires myself, if I have to. But look into it for me, will you?"
Thank goodness the people in Washington say there isn't a recession and that the economy is fine, I think. After all, people are still buying food and tires, so how bad could things be?
A guy in a beige Dodge truck is on his cell phone, calling around to see if he can buy a new rim for his truck cheaper than the one the tire store will sell him. The guy behind the counter has told him it will be $500, and he does not look pleased. He announces he wants to check with a wrecking yard before he agrees to the price. He calls a friend to see if he can recommend a place.
Then I hear my last name being shouted.
"Erickson!" Tire shop guys are a lot like high school gym coaches, in that they have no use for first names.
I stand up quickly, anxiously, like an expectant father outside of a maternity ward, and he walks toward me holding my keys out in front of him.
"We patched you up and you're ready to go," he says, pointing to my car parked in front of the door. "We also checked the air in all of your other tires for you. Have a nice day."
I tell him to do the same, and head to work. I will have the roads almost to my self, because rush hour is over. I am the proud owner of a 4 healthy tires with no holes in them, so my day should be nice,just like the one the tire doctor ordered me to have.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no holes in them,
Date: 2008-03-11 08:11 pm (UTC)Re: no holes in them,
Date: 2008-03-11 08:34 pm (UTC)I have a little truck on a little car, though. To be fair, my tire didn't go flat - it just had a big bolt head sticking out of it, making me nervious about driving at 70 mph down a highway (not to menion it made the ride bumpy). :)
no subject
Date: 2008-03-11 08:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-11 08:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-11 08:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-12 01:55 am (UTC)There is still room on my commune in Saskatchewan.
no subject
Date: 2008-03-12 01:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-12 02:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-12 03:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-12 05:09 pm (UTC)