A Comedy of Errors

Man, it's been a fun couple of days!

Wednesday, I commenced my drive 50 miles away to the meeting that was taking place for my largest project. Luckily, I was covered on the logistics and setup--one of the benefits of living in the southwest valley is that my coworkers understand my miserable commute and don't ask me to get anywhere earlier than the expected start time. Halfway there, and I mean the exact halfway point, I realize I forgot something very essential--my laptop. See, I was the designated notetaker/action item keeper/documentation maven, so the laptop is crucial. Plus, I was chagrined as this is the first time I've forgotten to bring my laptop from home (and it comes home every night) and I picked a helluva time to space it.

I called my admin, told her what happened, and turned around. I reasoned that finding a loaner laptop wasn't going to happen, and although she was going to make some calls I should start heading back for mine. Luckily, I only got about three miles before she called me back and told me one of the developers would let me borrow his!

I love our developers!

My boss loved this--see, I don't give him anything to complain about since I do my job very well. He told me we'd have to brainstorm some good analogies--like, my leaving my laptop is like a carpenter forgetting his pencil, or a trucker forgetting his CB.

I said, "Like a plumber coming to fix a clogged toilet without a snake?" My boss thought that was excellent.

I got up on Thursday, concentrated on getting dressed and going through my routine, and grabbed my purse and laptop as I ran out the door--I figured that Thursday, nothing was going to stop me!

Heh. This is where it gets good.

I'm coming up on Bell Rd. on the freeway, close to my halfway. In fact, I had just passed the exit I would normally take to get CJ to daycare. Tom had that duty this week. I'm in the middle lane of the three, going with the flow at about 75 miles an hour, when a plumbing truck passes me on the left. I hear a clang, then a muffled pop.

My first thought is the truck dropped something that got thrown to my car, but the truck was on the left, and the sound I heard was on the right. Then the back of my car (actually, my husband's car but we both pay for it) begins to try to fishtail, wobbling back and forth.

I realize I have a flat, and grip the wheel with both hands at 10 and 2, gently working it to compensate for the back movement. Then I throw my right blinker on and gradually reduce my speed by easing up on the gas. Of course, the traffic coming up behind me is parting and passing on both sides, so I have to wait for a gap before I can get into the right lane toward the shoulder.

I move into the right lane as I pass the Bell Rd. offramp, and the movement causes the flat to blow completely. I hear the fump fump fump of rubber flapping on the road as I continue slowing and moving to the right, and I'm really fighting the fishtailing as the rubber flaps out of the way and my rim grinds on the shoulder asphalt. Finally applying my brakes gently, I slow to a halt before coming the Gore point of the Bell Rd. onramp, a little past the bridge that goes over the road itself.

I call AAA and report my problem and location. Then I call my admin, and we laugh hysterically at the bad luck of this morning. Then I call Tom, who is relieved that I am OK and tells me to go ahead and get a new set of tires on the car--we reasoned if one tire was weak enough to blow, the other three are, too.

Tow Truck Man arrives and rescues me from the heat after admiring the blowout. He calls ahead to the repair shop with the tire size so they can locate a set, loads my car onto his flatbed, and we're on our way. He asks what I do for a living, making small talk, and has some good insights into what makes an effective website from a user's point of view. I make mental notes as my admin calls back to check on me and let me know that I'm covered, again, for my absense. My boss has no analogies for this; he's just glad I'm not hurt.

After we get to the repair shop in Sun City, a retirement community in the northwest valley near where I pulled over, I get my first good look at the tire. The sidewall is gone, just completely gone. The tread is intact but has been ripped from the steelbelt and is attached only on the far side. The tread and steelbelt are hanging limply around the rim, bunching and buckling like loose fabric. My fender and wheel well are untouched, and the mechanic determines that the rim is unbent, which is very lucky indeed.

The mechanics and the bay manager gather around me to get my AAA information, and also to ask me about the blowout--where was I? How fast was I going? How did I manage to get over without losing control? I answer and they nod, approving of my actions and perhaps a bit impressed that a female driver in Phoenix can actually handle a moving vehicle safely. Heaven knows there are precious few of us out here.

I spend about two hours at the shop as they find tires, wait for delivery, and fix the car. This AAA shop in Sun City is quite the social hotspot for a Thursday morning. Elderly man stop by with coffee and sit on shaded benches out front, watching the traffic and the customers stopping for gas. I see quite a few golf carts, the preferred vehicle of Sun City, come in to line up at the pump. There is still a full service pump getting some action. One gentleman pops his head in to ask for Harold, who is apparently on vacation, and the gentleman is disappointed as he just wanted to say hello. Another man strikes up a conversation with me, telling me he comes here every month and a half for his oil change.

I got to the business meeting just in time for lunch and to share my interesting morning. I'm surprised at how I kept my cool for the whole thing--the surprise and frustration of blowing a tire, the adrenaline of getting off the road, the chagrin of missing my meeting, the boredom of waiting, and, finally, the unexpected expense of a new set of tires. I'm not sure. I think I just accepted it as being outside my control, so there was no sense in working myself up at all--that anger and frustration would have accomplished nothing. Instead, I just chose to accept it and deal, knowing that at least when I got my car back, I wouldn't have to worry about getting a flat tire on the rest of my commute.