skip this one if you've heard it

I feel like I get flat tires all the time. I've had five in four years. Is this an appropriate amount? Is it dramatic to think that they always happen to me? There was...

one
two
three
four

...and this past Friday brings us to five. Turns out, the fifth time is not a charm when it comes to my ability to change tires. Seriously, I think I could have. It's just that, it blew out on my way home from vacation in a very inconvenient spot. Flash back less than a week, on my way to my vacation, and you will find me and Esther in a similar predicament. My car's starter had given up, and we were calling tow trucks and auto shops trying to find someone who could help us out on a weekend. But I digress.

Flash forward again to Friday. I would change the tire, but the shoulder is so narrow, and the tire's only about a foot away from passing cars, who are honking at me for God only knows why, seeing as how my hazards are flashing, and if I were in any way able to be driving, I would. My inherent desire to keep myself from getting hit by a passing car wins out over my desire to prove myself capable of changing a tire.

After about 18 phone calls, all of which end with, "You're where in New York? Oh we can't get anybody out there," I finally call the police. Before they arrive, however, Creepy Dave shows up and decides to change my tire himself. He's nice enough, it's just that his constant mentioning of pedophiles is a little unnecessary, as is his suggestion that Esther and I give him my tire, have a beer, and wait for him to return from a 24-hour shop in the Bronx. I think we're polite enough in telling him that no, we'd rather keep the tire and drive to a shop ourselves, but thank you so much for changing the tire. This does not go over well with Dave. He gets increasingly upset and even pulls up next to us as we drive away to try and coax us into giving him our tire, thereby saving ourselves from 'pedophiles.' Creepy Dave.

After several hours, and a failed attempt to find a 24 hour shop that someone else told us about, Esther and I check into a Super 8 in Jersey and call it quits for the night. We get it fixed in the morning and return home. All in all, I think we handled being stranded pretty well and made wise decisions under pressure. Someday, though...I will have a rematch with my tires. Someday.