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Yesterday's plans were simple. Bring my car to the dealership to have the winter tires changed to all-weather and get the 19000 km checkup; go to work and then pick up my car at the end of the day.
Those were the plans, and they went wrong from the moment I woke up.
I woke, not feeling well. Not surprising, considering that I felt like crap on Monday, but this was more serious than it was on Monday. Let’s just say that I could’ve starred in my own Pepto-Bismol ad. So I head downstairs to get some sweet tea, and take a quick look at my car. The tire that had had a very slow leak for a few days, had finally given up the ghost and was about as flat as flat can be. Not only that, I had discovered that my dear father had amused himself by moving the car out of the driveway in order to back it in (note: this is with the flat tire).
We finally get the car back into the driveway and out of traffic. I get dressed and pull out the spare tire. Everything is great until I realize that I have no clue how to A) change a tire and B) how to get the jack out of the car. The manufacturers had wedged it in so tight, that there seemed no way to get it out.
“We should call Triple A” says I.
“No,” says the progenitor, “We can do this ourselves, and Triple A will take too long.”
These were the words that came out of his mouth. However, having lived with my father for 31 years, I have learned to translate Daddyiese. What he actually said was: “No, if I ask for help, my testicles will shrivel and I will be emasculated.”
So I don’t call Triple A. Instead we pull out my mom’s jack. Unfortunately, it’s a jack for an Audi A4, and the instructions on how to open it are in German … This thing looks like an alien device, and even with the bizarre pictograms provided, we couldn’t figure out how to get this strange alien device open.
So again, I ask if I can call for help. “No,” says the paternal unit, “We will use my jack.”
Unfortunately for all, the jack for the Suzuki isn’t in the car, and nobody know where it is.
Finally, I get permission to call Hyundai for help. I pay for roadside assistance from them, I should be allowed to use them. So I call, and the guy from Triple A comes in less time than we spent futzing about with the various jacks. …
By this time, I feeling even more like crap, and decide that there is no way that I’m going to work. So I pack my car up with the all season tires, and the flat winter tire and head off to South Ottawa Hyundai with my father following close behind. Apparently I was going the wrong way, however, so he motions for me to pull over and I end up following him. We’re going in a direction that I don’t know, he’s speeding ahead running yellows and leaving me in the dust. I’m driving on a spare and can’t go above 80kph. … After getting lost, I finally get to the dealership.
They take my car and promise to take good care of my baby. They promise that the car will be ready by three at the latest.
So I get into my father’s car, we go to the bank so that I can get some American currency changed to Canadian (so I can pay for my car’s service) and head home. On the way home, as we travel happily down Highway 16, a large bird decided to commit suicide against our windshield. Dad lost control and almost ended up in the Memorial Garden. …
We get home, and with a swiftly beating heart, I decide to sleep away the rest of the day. I managed to sleep until 12, when my dealership called telling me that my car was done, and a few minutes later, I heard from Indigo that my book was in. Once again I get dressed and headed back out.
My car is running well now, I got back the winter tires, and the flat can’t be fixed by them (the hole is too big). It’s been suggested that I bring it to a tire specialist. I got my book, headed back home, and spent most of the rest of the day in bed.
That was my adventure. And I’m still sick. Stupid cold-thing.
Those were the plans, and they went wrong from the moment I woke up.
I woke, not feeling well. Not surprising, considering that I felt like crap on Monday, but this was more serious than it was on Monday. Let’s just say that I could’ve starred in my own Pepto-Bismol ad. So I head downstairs to get some sweet tea, and take a quick look at my car. The tire that had had a very slow leak for a few days, had finally given up the ghost and was about as flat as flat can be. Not only that, I had discovered that my dear father had amused himself by moving the car out of the driveway in order to back it in (note: this is with the flat tire).
We finally get the car back into the driveway and out of traffic. I get dressed and pull out the spare tire. Everything is great until I realize that I have no clue how to A) change a tire and B) how to get the jack out of the car. The manufacturers had wedged it in so tight, that there seemed no way to get it out.
“We should call Triple A” says I.
“No,” says the progenitor, “We can do this ourselves, and Triple A will take too long.”
These were the words that came out of his mouth. However, having lived with my father for 31 years, I have learned to translate Daddyiese. What he actually said was: “No, if I ask for help, my testicles will shrivel and I will be emasculated.”
So I don’t call Triple A. Instead we pull out my mom’s jack. Unfortunately, it’s a jack for an Audi A4, and the instructions on how to open it are in German … This thing looks like an alien device, and even with the bizarre pictograms provided, we couldn’t figure out how to get this strange alien device open.
So again, I ask if I can call for help. “No,” says the paternal unit, “We will use my jack.”
Unfortunately for all, the jack for the Suzuki isn’t in the car, and nobody know where it is.
Finally, I get permission to call Hyundai for help. I pay for roadside assistance from them, I should be allowed to use them. So I call, and the guy from Triple A comes in less time than we spent futzing about with the various jacks. …
By this time, I feeling even more like crap, and decide that there is no way that I’m going to work. So I pack my car up with the all season tires, and the flat winter tire and head off to South Ottawa Hyundai with my father following close behind. Apparently I was going the wrong way, however, so he motions for me to pull over and I end up following him. We’re going in a direction that I don’t know, he’s speeding ahead running yellows and leaving me in the dust. I’m driving on a spare and can’t go above 80kph. … After getting lost, I finally get to the dealership.
They take my car and promise to take good care of my baby. They promise that the car will be ready by three at the latest.
So I get into my father’s car, we go to the bank so that I can get some American currency changed to Canadian (so I can pay for my car’s service) and head home. On the way home, as we travel happily down Highway 16, a large bird decided to commit suicide against our windshield. Dad lost control and almost ended up in the Memorial Garden. …
We get home, and with a swiftly beating heart, I decide to sleep away the rest of the day. I managed to sleep until 12, when my dealership called telling me that my car was done, and a few minutes later, I heard from Indigo that my book was in. Once again I get dressed and headed back out.
My car is running well now, I got back the winter tires, and the flat can’t be fixed by them (the hole is too big). It’s been suggested that I bring it to a tire specialist. I got my book, headed back home, and spent most of the rest of the day in bed.
That was my adventure. And I’m still sick. Stupid cold-thing.
