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imagine... if you will...
Picture this:
A woman in purple pants, and a black t-shirt with 'toasterbait' on the fton and an evil toaster (it has red eyes of eeevil) sketched out in silver on the back is changing the tire on a little red Saturn.
Do you:
A. Stop and offer assistance.
B. Drive on.
C. Pretend they don't exist.
Most people choose B and C, of course. But, contrary to the racists of America, the first person to stop and offer help was a young, african-american man. The second was an older, caucasian man--in a street work truck, with lots of shiny lights.
Neither, were, in fact, required.
Now, add in that it was 2 in the morning, on northbound 94 just outside of downtown Chicago.
Timey and I are back from A.j.'s housewarming party, and both fine. Moya, otoh, is now driving with her donut. And can I note that the tire I took off was really blown? Cracks all over the sides, and the entire rim was falling off.
I cannot, however, enthuse enough about how fabulous Saturns are. Even with the tire going boom, the car NEVER was difficult to handle, or fish-tailed. I got off the road very easily. This just adds to my theory that Saturns are just the best fucking cars ever.
This is the second time I've had to change a tire after midnight, too. Sigh. It's obviously going to become a habit.
Had fun at A.j.'s. Did not get drunk.
Although my headache is back. Sigh.
I'm actually glad the tire blew at night, as I don't want to contemplate how busy fucking 94 is during the day. And we were definitely more visible at night.
For some reason, my automatic assumption is: engine trouble. This is very sad.
god. I think I need coffee. And cake.
A woman in purple pants, and a black t-shirt with 'toasterbait' on the fton and an evil toaster (it has red eyes of eeevil) sketched out in silver on the back is changing the tire on a little red Saturn.
Do you:
A. Stop and offer assistance.
B. Drive on.
C. Pretend they don't exist.
Most people choose B and C, of course. But, contrary to the racists of America, the first person to stop and offer help was a young, african-american man. The second was an older, caucasian man--in a street work truck, with lots of shiny lights.
Neither, were, in fact, required.
Now, add in that it was 2 in the morning, on northbound 94 just outside of downtown Chicago.
Timey and I are back from A.j.'s housewarming party, and both fine. Moya, otoh, is now driving with her donut. And can I note that the tire I took off was really blown? Cracks all over the sides, and the entire rim was falling off.
I cannot, however, enthuse enough about how fabulous Saturns are. Even with the tire going boom, the car NEVER was difficult to handle, or fish-tailed. I got off the road very easily. This just adds to my theory that Saturns are just the best fucking cars ever.
This is the second time I've had to change a tire after midnight, too. Sigh. It's obviously going to become a habit.
Had fun at A.j.'s. Did not get drunk.
Although my headache is back. Sigh.
I'm actually glad the tire blew at night, as I don't want to contemplate how busy fucking 94 is during the day. And we were definitely more visible at night.
For some reason, my automatic assumption is: engine trouble. This is very sad.
god. I think I need coffee. And cake.