The Flat Tire Episode

Of course it had to happen today.  The day I finalize the space for my store (more on that in a separate post later this week, I promise!), I'm running off to a meeting and I notice the unmistakable thunk thunk of a flat tire about 2 blocks from my house.  I drive a block further, hoping I was mistaken.  Nope.  Oh and did I mention that it's raining cats and dogs out?  

Step #1:  Call the hubbie and get ETA on arrival home.  If he can get off early, I have a great excuse not to have to deal with the flat on my own, in a downpour (OK, I exaggerate, 'twas only a moderate shower).  No dice.  He tells me he'll call me back in a half hour once he's out of his meeting as long as I'm home and safe. 

Step #2:  Stare at the strange diagram on the jack, wonder how the hell this thing is supposed to work and curse the instructions in German on said mysterious jack.  Recall that one time we got a flat on our way to the Gorge and the fact that we cursed said Jack for exactly the same reasons.  Comfort myself by thinking if we could figure it out then, I'm sure I can figure it out now.  Continue staring at jack wondering how the hell this thing works for the next half hour.

Step #3:  Hubbie calls back.  Apologizes for not being able to get home until 6:30 but promises to change the tire then.  Encourages me to go eat something for god's sake (knowing there is no food in the house and knowing how I get on an empty stomach).  I assure him I have eaten lunch and am determined to conquer this flat tire.  I am woman.  Hear me roar!  He again tells me to go get something to eat and let the man take care of it when he gets home.  First of all, of course the hubbie was joking (sort of - I do turn into a monster when my blood sugar is low.  Add on the possible frustration of me not being able to change the tire on my own and well, super-bitch is an appropriate term for what I would have been once he arrived home).  Secondly, the hubbie knows this is EXACTLY what he needs to say to get me all rev'd up and determined to get shit done.  I AM woman!  Hear me roar!!

Step #4:  Somehow miraculously figure out said jack.  Once you figure out to ignore the stupid diagram that makes no sense and just fiddle around with the thing, it's not that difficult.

Step #5:  Attempt to remove hub cap.  Reference owner's manual for clues.  Crap!  It calls for a "hub cap remover hook" that is clearly nowhere in the spare compartment of my car.  Double crap!  If all it needs, I reason, is a hook, then I can certainly utilize something else.  Hmm...screwdriver!  Pry hub cap off with screwdriver.  Check!

Step #6:  Lug nuts....So freakin' proud of myself up to this point.  Until the stupid Lug nuts.  Tug one way...tug the other way...repeat.  Start getting extremely irritated that, after having mastered the German jack & circumvented the need for a "hub cap remover hook", I'm now getting foiled by my complete and utter lack of upper body strength.  Dammit!  Dammit!!  Dammit!!!  Seem to vaguely recall the hubbie's frustration at this point during our last flat tire and take comfort in the fact that I'm really doing no worse than he did.  Which triggers a memory:  Jumping!  Jumping on the lug nut remover thingie (technical automotive terms here, people) may just work.  IF I can manage not to hurt myself.  Good thing that there's a roof rack on my car - I grabbed hold and jumped with all my might.   I recommend lowering the jack so that the tire is on the ground before commencing jumping.  Otherwise, jumping might just result in a spinny flat tire.  Not that I'm speaking from experience or anything.  Lower the jack...minutes later, 5 lug nuts removed!

Step #7:  At this point, the hard work was done.  Take the flat tire off, lift the spare on, tighten lug nuts.  Pat yourself on the back and decide to go have a beer rather than running any of those pesky errands you were headed out to do in the first place.

Step #8:  Give hubbie a big hug for managing to get home early at 4pm to help you out.  Proudly show him grease stained hands and changed tire.