Stranded

Recently I've had a string of bad luck with my car. Considering the fact that I drive for a living, that's a big blaring red mark in the lose column.

The day I'm writing about now was the second incident in this string of senseless attacks from the dark face in the universe that we all pretend isn't out to get us.

I had just finished up at one of my New Jersey stores and was on the way to another. I don't go this route often, so when my car started bouncing I thought I'd hit another rough patch...your basic New Jersey road. After a couple of miles I thought that this seemed to be going on just a little too long and decided to pull off to the side of the road to see if something was wrong with my car. I didn't have to do much more than open my door for the answer as the horrible stench from a burning tire nearly knocked me on my bum. I walked around my car and discovered a lump of rubber that may have once been a tire, but given it's condition I still have questions. I was stunned. I had no clue I had a flat. Not one. Until this car, it was always obvious when I had a flat – the car would shake, the tire would make that fwop, fwop, fwop sound that as sure as a gunshot announces your good mood is coming to a dreadful end, and the steering wheel would inevitably start pulling to the side with the flat, especially when it was a front end flat. In this car, it didn't feel much different than driving over rumble strips. (This may mean that I have to take every terrible thing back I've ever said or thought about those “idiots” who've ruined tires because they claimed to not know they were driving on a flat. I haven't made up my mind on that yet...I'm still positive given what I see people do on the road that at least a percentage of them truly are idiots and don't deserve to be behind the wheel of a car...possibly under one, definitely not behind one though.

As luck would have it, there I sat at the side of a NJ highway, with my handy dandy expired AAA card. (To which I will add, when I am down and out, and feeling all kinds of lonely, I need only to think back to days like this to remind me that I am never alone...Murphy will never leave my side...that stupid card had only expired two weeks prior.) Left with no idea what do to, or for that matter where I was really, I called the manager of the store I just left not quite sure what he could do for me, but I imagined him donning his Superman cape and using his super powers to either mold a new tire from the blob of rubber laying under my wheels or use his super strength to fly me and my car home. I settled for a phone number for a tow place and his advice to call AAA to see it they'd renew my membership and get me a tow. Sadly, he adamantly refused to don the cape. Although his super advice to call AAA worked wonders. They renewed my membership and got me a tow—which incredibly I only waited 25 minutes for.

Once the driver got me hooked up and we were on the way to the tire place, I felt comfortable enough to get all kinds of chatty and probably cursed more than a proper lady should. I've not often been mistaken for a proper lady, so why put on a show for a tow truck driver, right? (On a completely different note here, last weekend I was told by a former coworker that he didn't know what to make of me when we first met, that I maybe came off as a bit straight laced, he's learned otherwise since then. Haha)

Once we got my vehicle to the tire place, I figured I was going to be ripped off three ways from Sunday, so I was already preparing myself to take a second mortgage on the house to get a new tire, and initially I wasn't disappointed; the guy quoted me $160 for the tire. Granted, when I bought my tires I spent $100 on them but they were rated for 60,000 miles, I don't imagine this one was. I offered up my firstborn as payment. Shortly after, the tow guy came back in and told him he gave him the wrong tire size, the price quoter called whoever he was calling again and then told me the tire would only be $130 which was marginally better at least.

I don't know what came over me in there, normally when I find myself in a spot like this I get rather cranky and start cursing on the inside. This day though, I decided to give every human that crossed my path a hard time which turned out to be rather amusing with the group of guys in this place. During this time, one of the mechanics came in and took a phone call that seemed to be an unpleasant experience for him as he dropped the 'f' bomb a number of times. Finally, the guy who quoted me the price (who I will now call Jim for the sake of brevity) looked at him and said, “language, there's a lady here”. To which Tow Guy responded, “hey, she said 'shit' in my truck twice!” Of course, I responded by calling him a tattletale and adding in a weepy voice that I was a scared, lonely, stranded woman stuck on the side of the road in a town I don't know, and that if I felt the need to curse to relieve anxiety then he should support me. I then turned on 'Jim' and said in the same voice, and you! I am a scared, lonely, stranded woman, who sat terrified at the side of the road for someone to save me...shouldn't you at least offer a pathetic woman discount? To emphasize my point I dropped my purse onto the counter as if I carried the weight of the world in there.

In a weird twist I never saw coming, 'Jim' looked at me and said, “Woman, that is a Nine West purse, how much did you spend on that?” (You tell me, do YOU expect a man with grease up to his elbows to be able to identify a Nine West purse?!?!) I was proud to announce I got it for $15 on clearance at Ross, because what woman isn't proud of a great discount?!?! He responded by asking me how much I thought he spent for his shirt, I was clueless so he told me it was free, he spent zero money on it. I was all too happy to tell him if it would get me a discount that I'd be happy to give him my shirt, even though the neckline might not do him justice.

He hemmed and he hawed, asked how I was paying, and I told him if cash helped, I had twenty three dollars in my pocket and at least $7 or $8 in change in the bottom of my purse. He looked at me cross eyed, so I said I guess that means I'm paying by Visa. He finally shrugged and knocked $50 off the tire. I wasn't sure if I should have fainted or peed myself right then because I never imagined he'd actually give me a discount, I was just having fun giving them a hard time.

Never underestimate the power of an offer to remove clothing, even if you don't really have to; sometimes, the thought might just be enough. Happy bargaining!