When your car decides she hates you.

When your car decides he/she hates you, he/she might not warn you when the battery is dying or decide to run out of windshield wiper fluid when you have a swarm of bugs plastering your windshield or maybe even lock your keys inside it's iron trap doors without a spare key in sight. Mine? Mine isn't into subtle. She simply decides to massacre my tire.

It's a fine if not groggy Thursday morning (a late night of volleyball and giggles the night before) and my 40 hours in 4 days makes this Thursday my Friday. If I had the energy to jump and click my heels together, trust me I would have. I drive 14.5 minutes of my 15 minute drive without incident. It's a smooth ride and Jolene and I are blasting the Gavin DeGraw. Then, it happens. There is no yellow caution tape or bright orange cone marking the spot of our demise. Just a subsequent thump thump as I drive the last 30 yards...

I decide the loud thumping is my imagination. I park in my usual spot and think I'll do a once over of Jolene before I go inside. I didn't need the once over. As soon as I stepped out into the world, I heard the sound of an air mattress deflating... If only there had been an air mattress in sight. Yes, the sound was coming from my tire. In my calm, cool, collected manner to which I am accustomed, I start pacing, hyperventilating, and calling my parents 7 times in a row (it is 6:30 A.M. their time and I'm an awful child) until my mother (probably in a deep slumbering haze) texts me "need something?"... Uh actually, yes... 3 aspirin and a time machine please. She then tells me to call Triple A and have them come put on my spare. Such a voice of reason in this fiery horrific disaster. So, I park Jolene as far away from civilization as possible and wait. Finally, the call comes and I make the long trek across the parking lot (where I left Jolene to think about what she had done) where a young, very handsome man changes my tire as we exchange pleasantries. This man almost made the whole thing worth it for sure. So now Jolene has a pitiful, ugly, too small tire and it's all her own fault.

In conclusion, cars are people too. Treat them with respect and maybe they won't fatally wound your tire.

My tire is probably in heaven,

Jessica