Screwed. Twice. And Somehow, We are Still Married

The day started out nicely. Beautiful weather. A grand plan for taking care of our individual business before we head up to Lafayette to be ready for Ali’s day of orientation and class scheduling. 

Jeff was going to hit a few softballs; Ali had another grad party to go to – this one in Greenwood – and I was going to get ahead of next week’s work given my day away.

Then, Jeff discovered that he’d misplaced his wallet and his driver’s license along with it. He hadn’t left it in Andy’s car (his softball buddy) nor was it at the batting cage they’d swung by.

While tearing out his hair over the missing ID, he found a screw had wedged itself in to a tire on his Subaru – the car we’d planned to take to Lafayette and which he’ll need for work on Tuesday.

Without a wallet, he was without his credit card. So, I powered down from my current work project and followed him up to the tire shop and made sure he could pay for his new wheel.  As I drove, I noticed a “whump, whump, whump” kind of sound to my right. It was kind of like when you’d put a card in your bicycle tire to create a little two-wheel excitement. I made a mental note to see if Ali had properly closed the passenger door and went to rescue the Captain.

He was still annoyed about his wallet and was planning to spend his wait time calling around all the places he’d been between last night when he remembered last touching his wallet and this morning.

I sped home, packed for Lafayette and went back to work, noticing, being annoyed by but not picking up the stuff flung in the yard when Jeff tore apart his car looking for his wallet. 

Jeff wasn’t home before Ali had to go to her party, so I powered down again and packed up, planning to work at a Starbucks while she was at her party. As I backed out of the garage, I heard a crunch. It was then I remembered that I’d found my trunk door open earlier that morning – another part of Jeff’s trail of destruction as he tried to assemble enough tools to replace his tire before giving up and heading to the closest Firestone. 

Ali got out and found that I’d driven over my jack, which Jeff had flung on the garage floor along with the rest of the contents of my trunk.

“Hmmm,” I thought. “Hope that didn’t do any damage.”

Ali started to get back in the car when she stopped, took a few steps and called out to me.

“Uh, Mom,” she said. “You have a flat tire.”

Turns out that I, too, had a screw wedged in a tire.

I closed my eyes thinking that the jack must have had a sharp side to it and then remembered the “whump, whump, whump” sound. I sighed and started to retrace my drive to the tire shop. Ali called Jeff who I could hear through the phone with the top down demanding that I not drive to the on my saggy tire.

I met him at the tire shop where his frustration over the wallet had been well seasoned by his wait and then my disregarding his suggestion. His car still wasn't in the service bay. He was super annoyed that I hadn’t replaced the contents of my trunk, which would have allowed him to put on my little emergency tire. I opted to not tell him I'd driven over the thing.

I pointed out that there's a Speedway service station three businesses south of the tire shop. I prepared to head there for air. He debated aloud whether I should drive it. He was giving me directions to the Speedway as I pulled away.

He walked down to the station and aired up my tire as Alison started calling her friends to see if anyone in our part of the city had yet to start driving to the Greenwood grad party she wanted to go to.

Knowing Jeff was still waiting for service on the Subaru, I didn’t want to wait even longer at Firestone. I asked him if he’d checked whether a nearby Auto Zone has tired. He listed off the myriad places he’d checked before landing on Firestone. Auto Zone was not among them.

“Did you check Auto Zone?” I asked, preparing to call.

“I don’t know!” he said.

Afraid he was going to list off all the places he’d checked, I just called the store. No go. But the guy suggested Walmart, just a couple miles north. I called and hurrah, they have the tire I need and can install it.

“Thanks. I’m on my way,” I said, ended the call and looked at Jeff. “Want a ride?”

He declined and Ali and I sped up to Walmart while the air lasted.

An hour later, Ali hadn’t found a ride, but Jeff’s car was at least being worked on. I took a stroll to get a Starbucks tea and returned to be held hostage at the Walmart Auto Center where a Gilligan’s Island marathon was playing. I started singing the theme song to Ali. She gave me a dead fish stare and turned up the volume of the music on her iPhone.

I had little sympathy when her battery died a short time later. We were two 3-hour-adventures before Jeff called to say he was coming to get the girl to get her to her party.  

About four minutes after they left, I receive a secret text from Ali. “Wallet located,” she reported. 

I ask if it was in his pocket.

“Worse,” she texts back. “Softball bag. He put it in the “wrong” pocket, so he didn’t see it.”

We LOL.

As I awaited my own wheel servicing, I’d been working diligently but getting up periodically to peer out the window to see if my car had made it to the repair bay. I’d hop up, not see it and go back to minding my own business, working away in my holding cell. At one point another customer tried to begin a conversation on the merits of Gilligan’s Island. I smiled and agreed with whatever he said but went back to my work, island shenanigans as my background noise.

By now, Don Rickles had stolen money and jewels from the Howells and Ginger before escaping the island and leave the others behind; Gilligan thought he was Jekyll and Hyde and there was fear that headhunters had invaded the island. Just as a body double for Ginger joined the castaways, I heard another sound that my brain registered as being important.

I looked around, noticed nothing other than the dual Ginger and went back to work. The noise sounded again, louder this time. 

“Crap!” I said, realizing what the sound was.

I ran to the service bay door. It was locked for my own protection and no Walmart associates were to be found. I don’t know where they were, but they were not sitting with their tops down in the middle of a downpour like my Mustang was.

Thankfully one of the Walmart guys ran out and drove my car into dryness. They made me put on safety glasses to put the top back up, though why they wanted that I wasn’t sure. There were puddles in the back seat, but it’s been soaked more thoroughly.

I bought a bundle of Day Glo green towels and went to the counter to ask permission to go back out into the service bay to sop up the water. “Which is your car?” an associate asked. Three people said, “The Mustang.” Apparently, the crew liked the car.

“When do you want to sell it?” one of them asked.

Three hours and $97 dollars later, I was free to go.

I’m now awaiting the rest of my crew. The Captain still has to pack but otherwise, I think we’re ready to hit the road for Lafayette. There’s a Triple X burger in my future, but I’m also packing a cooler with a treat for the hot tub.

There’d better be a hot tub.