Down And Out

A journey is measured not in miles, but in experiences.

    It all began on a Friday.  This, of course, is the way of things when you are a college student.  Friday symbolizes an end, it is true, but it is the end of the menial, the required work, which means it is the beginning of the unplanned, and sometimes the unexpected.  Most Fridays come to represent good beginnings. (And after all, we even call the night that Jesus was killed “Good Friday.”  A good thing for us, definitely, although he probably saw a few downsides to it…)  The beginning that this Friday represented, however, has yet to give me any reason to attach a positive description.  This Friday was not Good Friday, not a good Friday, because there was no beneficial end result to outweigh the negative aspects, which were many.

    Of course, I knew I had to make the trip, but since I didn’t want to, it got put off, over and over again, until I finally found myself grabbing my car keys and leaving the room along with my roommate Jude around midnight.  It wasn’t quite dead outside, since midnight is prime time for doing anything fun, but on the other hand, I don’t live in the middle of the party scene, so it looked like most people had gone elsewhere to search for their own particular variety of fun.

    We wandered down the hill toward the stadium, chatting comfortably about random happenings of the day, both to us and to the world at large.  From all appearances, this would just be a quick trip, not enjoyable, but soon out of the way, no trouble.  We were both hungry, so we decided that along the way we would make a quick stop at Subway, to try the “new usual.”  We climbed the hill by the stadium, where to the right, inside the fence, people were working busily loading concessions, preparing the stadium, which was lit up brilliantly.  On down the hill, stepping on tiger paws made of slightly slick paint, (a hazard when the weather is bad) and on across the road to the parking lot.

    “Let’s see, third row back, should be about five cars or so from the end… yep, there she is.”  In our previous discussion, we had determined that the best move would be for us to go to Subway in one car, and then return for the other when we were done.  It would be simple, the cars would be put away nicely just the way we are always forced to do, and we would get a good snack along with it.  I wasn’t excited about it, but it seemed like a simple process, and only a slight waste of time.  I hopped in the driver’s side, Jude the passenger side, and we were ready to go.

    The car started nicely, began to sputter (but that’s normal) so I gave it a little gas, then I stuck it in first to drive illegally through the mostly empty parking lot simply because it was the shortest distance between two points.

    “Thump.”

    “Thu-thu-thump.”

    I pulled my foot off the gas.  This obviously isn’t good, I thought.  I haven’t even made it out of the parking space.  Many possibilities ran through my head, and I sorted through them.  No, no… oh. 

    “Jude, could you check that front tire?  I think it sounds flat.”  He opened the door, got out partway, far enough to see for sure.

    “Um, yeah, that would be a problem, wouldn’t it?”

    Well, this was nothing we couldn’t handle.  I got out of the car, opened the trunk, and, searching, found all the proper tools of the handyman trade.  Perfect. 

    We jacked the car up so the tire was off the ground, pulled off the hubcap, removed the lug nuts, and then slid the tire off and onto the ground.  So far, so good.  Now I picked up the doughnut of a spare tire and twisted it around in an attempt to get the holes lined up, which was not too hard.  Everything seemed to still be
going well, so we put the nuts back on, tightened everything down, and began to crank the jack down slowly.

    Down it went, down, down, such a long way because the tire was so very small, and then, finally it touched the ground.  Just a little farther and the jack would be loose, and the car superficially roadworthy.  Down, down, something seemed to be wrong.  I admit I was not an expert in changing tires, but this didn’t seem like the proper procedure.  The tire just kept flattening out against the pavement, and the problem grew in immensity until the rim of the tiny doughnut tire was touching the ground and finally the jack would come free.

    This was a dilemma I was totally unprepared for.  My car had to be moved by 1:00 a.m., which was rapidly approaching, and I had only three good tires.  Once again, many possibilities ran through my head.  Jude suggested one that I had not thought of.

    “We could just leave it here and let them tow it… it would save you the trouble.”
Although in retrospect this appears to have been a very good idea, at the moment I immediately dismissed it.  I did not want to have to pay the towing company, as well as storage fees, etc.  I thought that I would be able to take care of this situation on my own for much less money.

    “Maybe I can still drive on it.  R1 is not that far away, right?”  Jude, being the supportive roommate he is and wanting this escapade to be over as soon as possible, quickly agreed.  So I climbed into the driver’s seat, which was tilted at an angle I was not used to, and Jude got into his own car to follow me.  I drove forward a few feet and could tell instinctively that this was not a good idea after all.  The car drove horribly.  I rolled down my window and yelled at Jude, attempting to ask him for another suggestion, anything else we could do, but he seemed very persistent in facing forward and avoiding eye contact with me.  There was nothing I could do but give it a go.

    Never before had I been given such a chance for contemplation on a trip so short.  Immediately after turning left out of the parking lot I began to hear horrible noises coming from the right front corner of my car, leading me to believe that the rubber part of the tire had come all of the way off of the rim.  I rolled down my window, because it is always better to face your troubles with as much information as possible, and listened to the tune of metal on asphalt as I drove as slowly as possible in first gear without stalling the car. 

    Very quickly another dilemma presented itself.  It would obviously be improper etiquette to drive in the left-hand lane when my car’s speed was ranging between 4 and 11 miles per hour, but the right-hand lane had been chopped up into a very rough surface that surely was not good to drive on with a bare rim.  I decided that the tire was not all that important after all, because it was the spare, and anyway, it had already proven to me of just how much use it was to begin with.  So I drove along in the rough lane, wincing at the cacophony of sounds emanating from my precious piece of junk.  I wondered angrily why such things as this had to happen.  Why could the tire not have admitted its faults that summer, when I had been forced to repair a back tire that I had driven on with a nail in it for several months?  Why was my spare tire sleeping on duty and not available when he was called to serve?  Why oh why did the parking service not deal with lack of spaces in the logical way, by adding new parking lots? 

    My train of thought was interrupted quite frequently by another problem I had not expected.  Bumps in the road seemed to be horribly frequent, and each of them resulted in a spasm by the steering wheel that threatened to jerk control from my hands and take me on an unwanted and definitely very short journey into the wooded wasteland on my right.  I struggled to maintain control, and short victories would result in allowing a short time for more reflection.  A parking garage would be a good idea…

    One more obstacle loomed ahead of me, however.  Keeping this crippled beast going in one direction was hard enough, but now I was faced with a turn, which would undoubtedly push the rubber tire into the brake pads and other inner workings of the wheel, causing who knew what sort of trouble for both the car and the driver stuck inside it.  Since I could not possibly slow down any more, I simply began to ease the steering wheel counter-clockwise, this time giving with each jerk in the wrong direction but patiently and insistently correcting it each time like a loving father dealing with his wayward child.  I am sure it was not the prettiest sight, but eventually the car was in the proper lane on the road to the parking lot.

    Finally, my destination reached, I was given another reason to ponder.  As I used my newly acquired skills to carefully navigate up and down the rows of the parking lot, I recalled the words written in the fateful email that brought about this whole scenario in the first place.  “The R1 Parking Lot has been recently enlarged and should have plenty of room, but should it fill…” Should it fill?  Should it fill?  Never before or since have I been able to understand this.  Once again, a failure and misdirection on the part of the parking service.  The lot will fill, every time, because it does not have plenty of room, it is woefully deficient.  I’m going to have to manipulate this crippled beast all the way out to Kite…  My thoughts were interrupted by a miraculous appearance.  Someone had just left the parking lot, giving me a free space!  With a quick prayer of thanks I pulled into it with my ever-improving offensive driving skills and hopped out to survey the damage. 

    What a sight.  The old Tempo, skewed at a crazy angle, parked horribly with about a foot of space between it and the Blazer beside it.  At least the proximity somewhat blocked the view of the tiny metal rim, scraped and scratched, digging into the ground with the rubber tire hanging loosely around it.  The original flat tire was standing up in the back seat.

    I left the doors unlocked.