Tire-Gate...

So far 2010 has been all about Tiger-Gate and the myriads of women he's fucked.

Let me tell you, Tiger has nothing on Tire-Gate...

This past Wednesday night as I left work I noticed my van was making a funny noise. I was yakking away on my phone, talking trash to a guy so I didn't pay it much mind. By the time I'd gotten off the interstate I was pretty certain that the dull roar that was slowly getting louder and the sluggish pull of my steering indicated I was developing a flat tire. No biggie, I'd had a slow leak for a while and have an air compressor at home. The closer I got to home, the more I prayed ohGodpleasejustletmemakeithome.  I make it home, get out and examine the tire... which is um... flat... and uh, smoking. Holy fuck.

I go into the house, Dad is finishing up dinner on the stove. I said I have a flat tire. He says no problem I can fix it.* I said yeah but it's not only flat, it's smoking. The tire is done for and I need the spare put on. He says yeah but it's no problem.*

*Let the record show that whenever my dad says "No problem" this indicates that we are indeed about to have a very big problem.

Dad says he will simply blow it up.
-------------------------
Before I can continue I need to explain something about my dad. You know those men, those fathers that are handy with tools, can fix relatively minor problems around the house, change the oil on the car and do those basic "manly" things?

My dad is not that man.

My dad is more like this. If it doesn't involve duct tape or Gorrilla Glue he can't fix it. Well, he can't fix it properly. There's a difference. My father is the man that will fuck up the simplest repair and spend gobs of money doing so, only to eventually have to admit defeat and call a professional to repair all the shit he fucked up plus the original repair. That is my dad and I love him anyway...
--------------------------
Getting back to the tire. Dad said he'd blow it up. He gets the air compressor, attaches it to my tire, turns it on and voila! The tire begins to fill up with air. I went inside to check on the kids and about 5 minutes later Dad follows. He takes off his coat, fixes a plate of food and a salad and sits down to eat.

Then I heard the explosion.

Le fuck? Perplexed, I looked out the front door and see my tire, if possible, FLATTER than before. I turned around and yelled in disbelief "YOU LEFT IT ON?!" "You sat down and ate and left the thing on?!"

He said "No problem*, I'll just put the spare on. Won't take but a minute."

It took longer than a minute. It took the rest of the night... the following day... and most of today.

So, first he had to locate my jack and spare tire. Found those except the part of the jack that you use to get the lug nuts off, well dad had fucked that piece up the last time I had a flat tire. He bent it almost beyond recognition. Anyway, he got the spare out and propped against the car. The attempt to get the lug nuts off did. not. go. well. At all.  Dad blamed the mechanics and airguns. I thought they were called air wrenches but what do I know, being a girl and all. At this point I mentioned that we could simply call a tow truck and have someone put my spare on. Dad says no, I can do it. It is at this point that silent pleas are flung heaven-ward by me.

Dad tried and tried and could not get the nuts off the van. He leaves, goes to Wally World and comes back with not one but two wrenches ($25 & $35 dollars respectively) to attempt to get the nuts off. 30 minutes later he comes in triumphant. One lug nut has been removed. He holds the wrench up as proudly as an Olympic torch bearer. Then he says except, um, I can't get the nut out of the wrench. Quoi? Sure as shit, the nut is jammed in the wrench. Of course the other extensions on the wrench don't fit my tire at all so... let's leave that till morning and try and work it out.

4:30 Thurday morn: Dad is outside still struggling to get the lug nut out the wrench. He gives up and tries to use the fucked up wrench from my jack. Doesn't work. I get the kids up and ready for school. Dad drives the kids to school and drops me off at work. He says that he's going to buy a compressor and air gun (wrench, I corrected) "since this is a problem we'll always have." I timidly point out that you know, we could call a tow truck and spend about $75 and be done with it. No, he says, he can handle it.

Quarter of nine that morning my girl friend calls me at work asking have I heard the news? No, what? EVERYONE that left out the front gate yesterday got flat tires. Hoards of angry worker are rushing the police department at work because the tire spike strips malfunctioned and slice people's tires to ribbons. We're talking hundreds. She tells me call the police dispatch and give them my info and the government will reimburse my costs for repair. Jubilant, I call my dad with the news. "Go ahead and call the tow guy", I said. No, he's getting the compressor and other stuff.

Fuck.

3pm he gets my kids from school. 345 he gets me from work. The entire way home I hear about this fucking compressor and all that's wrong with this brand new equipment that he has no idea how to use. All evening he grumpily tried to get it going. All evening he failed at said task. At one point he got it going and tried to remove the lug nuts. Nope. He comes in and declares disgust and defeat and sits at the table brooding. Suddenly his face brightens and he announces that he thinks he knows what he did wrong:

I had it in reverse.

*facepalm*

Tries it again. DOES NOT WORK. More grumbling and raging, equipment brought back into the house, I'm going to bed, door slams.

Fast forward to this morning: Dad announces he will try again and if he can't get it he'll admit defeat and call me to have someone remove the tire.

By 10am he called me to admit defeat and have someone remove the tire, natch. I call a company close to my house, kindly gentleman answers and says sure thing, I can do that. It'll cost $45. Mr Tow Guy comes to my house, removes the tire in 2 minutes,