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The Saga of Getting
New Tires
(By Stacy Jones, June 18, 2006) |
My
husband thinks I'm the most unorthodox person in the world. My
way of doing things baffles him. You see, for someone like him-organized,
punctual, orderly-my way of moving about the world, usually in
a disorganized, leisurely, spontaneous fashion, is foreign to
the way his mind works.
Take this past week for example.
One of my best friends from elementary school and I had been
planning a road trip to Dallas since March to visit another friend
with whom we attended school. We had considered possible dates
and finally settled on this particular week.
"You better get new tires
for your car before you go on your trip," Mike said a few
weeks ago. I, on the other hand, would have no idea when it's
time to purchase new tires based simply on examining the current
tires on my car. To me, rubber is rubber, and if it is round
and has grooves, it looks like a tire. If it's on a car in one
piece and rolls, then what else does one need? You're all set.
"Oh, the places you'll go"-as Dr. Seuss says. Now I
could probably compare a new tire to an, old worn tire if they
were sitting side by side, but otherwise, I'm not a good judge.
Of course, one also ought to be
able to discern whether it's time for new tires based on the
time they've been on the car. For instance, before my trip this
week, one pair of tires had been on my car for almost three years.
And I do spend my fair share of time on the road, so I guess
three years is long enough to go before getting new tires.
Mike reminded me several times
that I should call Wal-Mart and order four new tires, since they
don't keep the specific 16-inch tire for my car stocked in any
of their stores. And as usual, I procrastinated. I suppose I
kept waiting for him to call for me because-although by word
I ascribe to the notion of women's liberation-I still think there
are tasks that men feel more comfortable doing than women. Like
ordering tires.
So, finally, last week I called
Wal-Mart. The attendant informed me that it would take anywhere
between five to seven days for them to arrive at my local store.
"Sometimes," he said, "I've seen it take as much
as ten days, but usually it's about a week." From the time
I ordered them-a Tuesday-until the day Mindi and I left for Dallas-I
had nine days, so I was hoping the tires would roll into Wal-Mart
in time.
"You're just now ordering
them?" Mike asked casually. "A week before you need
them? And how long," he continued, with a twinge of glee,
I'm sure, "have you known you were going on this trip?"
"Well," I said, stalling,
trying to muster up my best defense, "I've known vaguely
about the trip until March. But we didn't set our exact dates
until recently."
Mike just shook his head. "This
is just like you," he said. "I hope you get your tires
in time." I knew better, though. I knew secretly he was
wishing they wouldn't arrive in time just so he could glean a
sort of "I-told-you-so" satisfaction.
But, true to the attendant's prediction,
the tires for my car arrived within the week. However, I was
out of town and couldn't go immediately to get them installed.
I returned home Wednesday evening before Mindi and I were to
leave on Thursday.
"Why don't you go tonight,"
Mike asked on Wednesday, "and get your tires put on? You
can take your car to Wal-Mart, and ask Loyd to pick you up when
he gets finished at work." My brother Loyd, a real estate
and insurance agent, has an office near Wal-Mart. "Then,"
Mike added, "on Thursday morning, you can get a ride back
with Loyd when he goes to work. They'll have your car first thing
when they open at seven and it should be done and waiting for
you when you get there after nine." Mike seemed to have
it all worked out for me.
"I have too much to do tonight,"
I said. "I'll just get up early tomorrow and take the car."
Now Mike sniffed out the rupture in that logic like a bloodhound.
Here's the problem: it's nearly impossible for me to get up early
without dire provocation. If I knew, for example, that I must
to get up to go to work or I might lose my job, I'll get up.
Or if I had a chance to meet someone I really admire, like, say,
President Bill Clinton, I might get up early. But going to Wal-Mart
to get tires? Mike knew in actuality that I wouldn't get up early.
And, true to my nature, I didn't.
I stayed up that night packing, preparing for my trip, until
around 3 a.m. So when I went to bed, I decided I didn't want
to wake so early. In order to shower and make it to Wal-Mart
by 7 a.m., I would have to rise about 5:30 a.m. And somehow two
and a half hours of sleep didn't seem feasible before the long
drive to Dallas.
I decided, therefore, to make sure
I had my car at Wal-Mart by 10 a.m., which I did. I figured Wal-Mart
couldn't be that busy yet because, for me, 10 a.m. is still fairly
early in the morning. However, I knew the situation did not look
promising, though, when I told the Tire and Lube attendant I
wanted to get tires put on the car and he chuckled. This is one
place in the world where a chuckle is not a good response.
"We can do it," he said,
wiping sweat from his forehead as he chuckled a second time,
"but it'll be three, maybe three and a half hours before
we can even pull it into the bay."
"Before you can even start
working on it?" I asked to make sure.
"That's right," he said.
At this point, I knew Mindi was
likely already en route to my east Memphis home from her house
near Tupelo. It would be a matter of two hours or so until she
arrived. And I would be sitting at Wal-Mart in Cordova, on the
other side of town, still waiting to begin the process of putting
tires on my car. Nevertheless, I called Mike, who was out of
town, to get his advice. I should have known the answer before
I called.
"See?" Mike said. "I
told you." Then he proceeded with a variation on his favorite
"You-can't-put-things-off-until-the-last-minute-and-expect-to
get-them-done-properly" speech. "I told you you should
have gotten there when they opened," he finished.
But I hadn't. So I proposed a different
idea. "What if I take the tires with me and get them put
on along the way?" I asked. Mindi and I already had plans
to stop halfway in Texarkana and spend the night. I knew that
there would be at least one Wal-Mart near our stop.
Mike agreed that this was the best
idea at this point. So the attendant loaded the tires in my car
and I went home. When Mindi arrived, we proceeded to pack my
car. I was able to lower my two back seats and fit all four cumbersome
tires in there. We loaded our luggage and personal effects into
the trunk.
I'm sure we must have made an interesting
sight driving west on the interstate through Arkansas with four
tires piled into the back seat. I envisioned some of Lucy and
Ethel's similar harebrained schemes on "I Love Lucy."
Fortunately, We arrived in Texarkana
without delay, and the next morning, unlike the previous, I crawled
out of my comfortable bed and got to Wal-Mart right at the time
they opened at 7 a.m. I was still the second customer, as a man
was already waiting in the parking lot to have tires put on his
truck. I am still, as I write, sitting in Wal-Mart waiting for
them to finish my car. I've been here almost two hours now.
But the saga is almost ended. I
will soon have four brand new tires on my car. For the next couple
of days, I will answer to no one: my husband or Wal-Mart. I will
be free to go out and conquer the open road-at whatever leisurely
pace I choose.
(Stacy Jones, a Southerner,
is a Master of Fine Arts student in fiction writing at The University
of Memphis. She is a native of Guys, Tenn., and her columns,
which appear on Saturdays, are archived at Southern-Drawl.com.) |
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