Run-Flat Tires

Sometimes I don't feel like I'm very . . . very . . . anything mature or stable or calm or fearless.  I don't feel like I've come  very far.  I know this to be fiction, electrical impulses in my brain and chemicals in my bloodstream.  I like looking back over my time in The Program, mulling over how I used to handle things.  I know I've grown; it's just that when I'm in a rage or a grouch or a brainstorm, or going under the waves of Fear Lake I lose sight of the growth.

We left Vacation City today to drive back home The New City.  We were about 2 hours into an 8 hour leg when I ran over a pothole on the highway and totally destroyed my right front tire.  I knew this because a little red light on my dashboard illuminated with a helpful message: "Your tire is fucked."  My warning lights have attitude - they don't pull any punches.  I have a somewhat expensive car if by "expensive" you mean "a car that doesn't do anything that a normal car does but costs more."  Moreover, this car has run-flat tires and by "run-flat tires" I mean 'tires that are easily damaged and very hard to get and cost 3 times more than a normal tire."  They also absolve the manufacturer of adding a spare tire, so I couldn't make SuperK unload the trunk and change the tire on the berm of the highway in 85 degree heat even if I could convince myself this was a good idea. 

We stopped at a service station if by "service" you mean "not car service."  The very nice kid running the counter told us how to get to the Very Expensive Car dealership where I was treated like someone with a venomously contagious disease.  I was from out of town, so they didn't see any future sales, and it was Sunday, which meant their service department was closed.  They clearly wanted me to go away.  The showroom was empty.  Everyone was standing around.  Hey, help a brother out, right?

Anger is one of my big problems.  I could feel the anger that had begun mutating behind both my right and left eye beginning to gain some serious momentum.  I thought about what it means to Be of Service and how I make it into something ephemeral when in fact it's doing little things to help other people out.  These pustules were standing around in a totally empty showroom and they did nothing to help me out.  

We found a small tire dealer where a guy named Mitch and a mechanic named Hector took care of us.  They solved the problem temporarily so that we could get to a hotel to spend the night and ordered the tire to be delivered early tomorrow morning.  It's sunny and hot where I am and rainy and cold at home.  I called my sponsor and we laughed about my problems of prosperity.  I was proud of myself for keeping my mouth shut.  For once.

I'll never forget Mitch and Hector.  That's a fact.