The Struggle is Real - My goal since resigning myself to moving out so the realtor could stage my house (and hopefully rid it of the stinky cat stink) has been “do one thing a ni...
Jun 1, 2007
Yesterday, I climbed up the Depression-Era thrill ride called the Huey P. Long Bridge, made my way onto the Expressway, and
I had a blow out.
Thankfully, I managed to get myself off the road and into a parking lot, where I pulled out the jack and the spare, and after a lot of effort, smeared with a lot of grease, I put the spare on. I went back to the store and got a replacement.
Thankfully, I was not killed.
This also happened a few years ago...in a much scarier scenario. I was on the highrise (a particularly deadly bridge into the city). What is it with me, bridges and blowouts?
My tire blew out suddenly. Worse still, a piece of the rubber from the tire lodged itself in the axle and forced the car to a sudden stop. Of course I had no idea what had happened.
Luckily, I managed to make the car coast onto the side of the road otherwise I would not be here typing today.
Behind me was the descent of the bridge, down which came barrelling 18 wheelers at breakneck speed. I couldn't get out of the car because to open the driver side would end in sure death, as I was all but a few feet away from the barrelling 18 wheelers. The door would have been taken off. They, coming as they were from the top of the bridge, had little warning of a car in front of them.
I tried to climb out of the passenger side door, but it was lodged too tightly to the railing. There was no way out.
It was well over 100 degrees outside, and I couldn't move the car (due to the rubber lodged in the axle. Fortunately, I had about 20 minutes left on my dinosaur of a cell phone. That was the day I decided a cell phone was worth having.
I called my father and managed to get in touch with him. After sitting in the blazing heat for a few hours, watching 18 wheelers one after one careen down the high rise, each one shaking the entire interstate like a tremor as they raced 6 feet away from my car, the tow truck arrived. Despite two calls to the police, by the way, and 4 police cars (I counted) that drove right past me and never stopped, the police never showed up.
I don't know what kind of tire curse I have.
I think it has something to do with these horrible streets here, but I'm not completely absolving the tires either. I see some similar tales out there.