When filling a vehicle’s tires, there is a pressure sweet spot to aim for. It’s different for every car, so you need to check the label on the inside of the door before grabbing the air pump. Too low pressure can make them roll unevenly and wear out faster, while too high tire pressure causes road friction and can lead to blowouts. I was much more experienced with the latter.
My red 2012 Hyundai Sonata wasn’t much to look at. The model was nice, and I didn’t pay a penny for the keys (it was a graduation gift from my father), but that red metal was now beaten with scratches and dents. A hit-n-run had scarred the left side, and since I didn’t catch their license plate, my insurance wouldn’t cover it. One rear-view mirror had fallen out of its plastic and was now held in with duct tape, but it didn’t bug me enough to get it replaced. Now, the back tire on the passenger side rumbled all the way to my girlfriend’s workplace. I dreaded inspecting the damage and loading another repair on my conscience, but I was already ten minutes late to the party.
Heather, my girlfriend of five months, had been preparing this office Halloween party for almost as long as we’d been dating. As a legal assistant at the law firm, she was saddled with the unexpected responsibility of carrying out the party plans alongside her sisters in justice. Her boss must have been a fan of the old Hallow’s Eve.
It was about a fifteen minute drive from the university campus, where I’d left my late-night psychology lecture early. Abandoning my rattling Sonata to the cold, autumn air, I stepped into the parking lot. The building was wide, covered in brick, and with light spilling out of the second floor. Through glass doors, I came upon a hall like a hotel foyer. There was a live band playing on a small stage, and an army of champagne glasses and tiny desserts on tables.
On the second floor, I scanned for Heather. No one was dressed in Halloween costumes, but there was a color scheme of black and grey. The clusters of middle-aged businesspeople around the open-concept office looked like a funeral at a golf course. Someone was going to ask me a question, I could feel it. I shuddered.
Then I was rescued. “Hey babe.” Heather’s husky voice turned me around. I gazed up at her green eyes, taller than me in her two-inch heels. She was killing it in that black and white dress, right on theme. I accepted her kiss on my cheek. “How was the drive?”
“Wasn’t bad.” I tugged at my blue collar. “This place is crazy nice.”
“Yeah.” She was used to her office; I’d heard all about the overtime she’d spent in this space. “George loves spending money. He never skimps on anything.”
I couldn’t relate.
The party ended with buzzed businessmen climbing into taxis while the rabble cleaned up. I took it as my responsibility to help Heather and her coworkers gather glasses, fold tablecloths, and cling wrap leftover desserts. It made me feel useful, even though I wasn’t on the payroll.
With everything taken down, I walked Heather to her car. I admired her white Chevy in the employee parking. It had some dents like mine, but they weren’t as visible unless the light reflected off them just right.
I rubbed her back. “You did great, babe.”
“Thanks, I think so too.” Her arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me close. She beamed at me with every freckle on her face. Now that she’d changed out of her heels, Heather was shorter than me again. We were so close in height; that was one of the things that had drawn me to her. She felt like my equal, like we were a team. She was an employed, independent woman. I had nothing to offer her but myself; she was in love with me for me.
But she glared over my shoulder. “Your tire is completely blown out.”
“Yeah?” She was preaching to the choir. “I should do something about that, huh?”
Heather’s chest left mine, cuing me to approach my Sonata. She walked with a wicked dedication, like she planned to rip the tire off with her teeth. It led to my first real inspection of the damage; the tire wasn’t just flat, it was concave. I knelt beside the sad, black rubber and poked, impressed by its give.
“You drove here on this?” She was more concerned than angry, but I still cringed.
“Yup.” There was no more to be said; this was my punishment for ignoring the problem. I popped the trunk and lifted the flap that concealed my tire kit and spare. Heather held the flap up while I twisted a knob, releasing the glorified bicycle tire and the styrofoam case.
I laid the kit on the asphalt, a breeze nipping at my fingers. As I extracted the jack’s components, each came with a loud snap — the things had been glued in by the manufacturers. “Don’t think I’ve ever used this before.” I laughed for some reason.
I slipped the jack under the car by the miserable tire, hoping it was in the correct location as I cranked away. My knuckles kept grazing the asphalt, leaving dark scrapes. The last time I changed a tire was years ago, on someone else’s car, on a road trip with four friends from high school. We were stranded in the middle of the prairies under the blazing sun of southern Alberta, but our naive camaraderie made it feel less dire than it was. This time there wasn’t a full pit crew of hooligans to decipher my instruction manual, and the knot in my stomach was trying to convince me this was life or death.
“Hey Heather! You guys okay?”
We both turned to find a giant man in a black windbreaker, whom I’d seen with an employee tag at the party. He had a big nose and a friendly grin, and his handshake felt like sandpaper. He didn’t share his name.
“Got a flat.” I kept it short.
He hummed, folding his arms. “I got a second, let me give you a hand before I go.”
Fishing into the kit, the guy took a lug wrench and began yanking at the nuts around the hubcap. His indomitable strength completely emasculated me, removing the nuts in seconds when it took me over a minute to crank the jack.
“And, alley-oop!” The guy tugged on the naked wheel, expecting it to pop off. He tugged again, and again, and again, but it was no use. He sat back with a sigh. “You wanna try?”
There was no way my baby strength would make any difference, but he let me try hugging the wheel. It felt like the metal had fused onto the spindle. Heather stepped forward to try, but our helper stopped her.
“Here, just give it a good kick.” His loafer came down on the hubcap, shaking the entire car. He kicked again, and again, and again, but it was no use. “He’s really stuck on there, eh?”
Neither of us knew what to say.
Evidently, the guy didn’t either, as he stepped back. “Well… I’ve gotta go. Good luck, you two!” With that, he fled, not waiting for a goodbye.
“That was Bruce. He’s new.” Heather shrugged. “Do you think it’s rusted on?”
“Hope not.” I started kicking it too.
Not long after, another man came by, not from Tudor & Associates but rather the dark of the industrial road. This guy was wearing a reflective vest over a hoodie with a baseball cap, carrying what might have been a gym bag. He passed us for a second, before his work boots ground to a halt on the pavement and he turned back. I just wanted him to go. Leave me be to suffer, to show my partner a full display of just how weak, poor, and incompetent I really was.
“Your jack all the way up?” The dude didn’t even introduce himself.
“The jack?” Heather repeated.
“Yeah. You gotta make sure that’s all the way up.”
I hope I didn’t scowl as I reached for it. I cranked it a little more, skinning my knuckles a little more too. The car didn’t seem to get any higher.
“Yeaaah, there ya go.” The man beamed, satisfied. “Should come right off.”
I tugged again. Nothing.
“Keep it going, all the way up.” Then he wandered off, disappearing out of the yellow parking lot lights.
I kicked and pulled at the wheel a little more, burning rising in my chest with each futile effort. The dented tire stared at me, its screws mocking me, daring me to keep trying. What was the point?
Then another shadow approached us — this time Heather acknowledged them. “George! How’s it going?” That was her boss, a wiry man with wavy dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses.
“Good, good.” He smiled, shuffling his shoulders in his suit and adjusting his striped scarf. “You’ve got a flat tire?”
“Yup.”
George laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, that sucks. Want me to call a tow truck? I’ll pay.”
“No, we’re fine.” Heather spoke for me. She could tell I didn’t want to bring any more attention to my failure. What did I do to deserve her? “Having some trouble getting the wheel off though, any tips?”
George sucked air through his teeth. “Can’t say I do.” His shoe scraped on the asphalt as he fidgeted, watching me. His eagle eyes filled me with guilt. My incompetence was probably hurting Heather’s workplace image or something. “I gotta put my kids to bed, but if you need a tow, give me a ring!” With that, he fled too.
I should have known. I should have done this sooner. Now, I was reaping what I’d sown. This was punishment for my hubris, ignoring the signs that something was wrong. If I’d acted sooner, taken the proper precautions to fix the tire beforehand, I wouldn’t be stranded in a freezing parking lot. At least I wasn’t alone, but failing my freezing girlfriend didn’t feel exactly great either.
My thoughts returned to the mystery man. He had nothing to prove, nothing to gain. Why did he try to help me? Now that I thought about it, did I have the jack all the way up like he suggested? Had I really gone as far as I could have?
I started cranking the jack again. I cranked again, and again, and again, but the car didn’t seem to go any higher. It felt fruitless, but I kept going, until the jack finally clicked to its maximum height.
Sighing, I reached for one final pull. I tugged. Then rotating my wingspan, I tugged again. Suddenly, it popped off!
My head whipped around to look at Heather, both of our mouths agape. “Yo!” We laughed, and I cast the battered wheel onto the asphalt. The rest of the replacement was a cinch, and I attached the spare tire without much trouble. It looked terribly out of place, but it was the first step. We were saved.
Heather laughed. “Nice! I mean, who was that dude?”
I didn’t have an answer, not that she really wanted one. Fully extending the jack must have taken enough of the car’s weight off the wheel that it slid off with ease. The kindness of a passerby was the key all along.
I wasn’t trying hard enough, anywhere in my life. Even though I’d ignored the signs and waited too long to do something about fixing that wheel, or repairing the scrapes and dents in my hull, it wasn’t over yet. I still had time. I just had to crank the jack as high as it could go.
