So I was driving down Route 9 the other day, looking at the Rocky’s Hardware sign and wondering if I should write an anonymous letter on the use of the apostrophe, when the driver behind me honked at me. I looked back, and he was waving me over with frantic arm gestures. I figured it was a fan, looking for my autograph, but actually he just wanted to tell me that my left back tire was going flat.
I drove to Hadley Tire, where the mechanic told me that I had a very well-maintained car for an ’85. He said he could change my deflating-before-my-very-eyes tire but that I actually need two new tires so my back tires can match. I said that’ll ruin the sexy asymmetric look I’ve got going with the wiper blades but he said I can hit Squeaky’s worst spots with some rust-inhibitor paint and get that look back.
The mechanic also told me that I’ll need new front tires before it snows, but I think he’s just worried that my worn-out front tires wil be jealous of my shiny new back tires. (I was really pleased that he didn’t try to sell me a million other things for Squeaky. But I already had high expectations for that garage because both Steph and our teacher Brian both like to keep their ancient cars at Hadley Tire in between rides.)
I really think this whole car-owning thing is hard. And I don’t just mean the usual complaints about rising gas prices, although I’m not crazy about that, either. I’m getting better about remembering to keep feeding Squeaky his petrol, steering fluid, oil, and antifreeze.
Next, I’m going to decorate Squeaky with Rustoleum paint and then, I’m going to go cruising.