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| A perfect day for a flat tire... |
During the warmer seasons, part of my weekend routine involves mowing the lawn and any subsequential yard work that goes with it. I prefer to bag the grass clippings because it makes the yard look tidier. The bagger collects leaves and nuts from the trees in the yard, as well as weeds and their seeds. However, it is illegal to put grass clippings into the trash bins for regular weekly collection in Milwaukee. Grass clippings must be bagged and driven to the City Dump.
The City Dump in not my favorite place to be on the best of days. On hot summer days, it smells like the horse barn at the State Fair and has twice as many flies. In fall, there are long wait lines to get inside as everyone is trying to get the last of their outdoor yard work done before the snow flies. Additionally, the facility is a “self-help” station, and the contracted employees do not help anyone with their loads. Their main purpose is to tell you in which bin to put your trash and then watch you do it.
On a recent October Saturday, the weather was perfect to get some yard work done. After mowing, I loaded the back of my Saturn Vue with two large trash bags of grass clippings, and drove to the Dump. Although many residents had been doing last minute yard work, the line to enter the Dump was not too bad. It didn’t take long for me to get into the facility’s driveway.
As I was getting my ID out of my purse, I noticed a fellow exit the vehicle behind me and run up to mine. Mom rolled down her window and the young man said, “You have a flat tire!” Mom said, “Are you KIDDING ME??” The guy said, “No...it is REALLY flat.” I said, “Great. That wasn’t like that when we left the house!”
As I pulled my vehicle up to the Check Point, we could here the sickening “flap-click, flap-click, flap-click” of the tire. I moved my car out of the traffic path, got out and looked at the right rear tire. Yep, it was flatter than flat!
Taking Care of Business
We were near the bins for grass clippings, so we walked the bags of grass over to the bins to access the spare tire and lighten the load of the car so it could be jacked up. While I was getting the tools out, I instructed Mom to ask one of the Dump workers for assistance.
A fellow named “José” said he’d have to ask his supervisor for permission to help us. The supervisor came over to assess the situation, then requested over his walkie-talkie: “Are there any fine gentlemen who would help fix a flat tire for a young lady?”
“And her mother...” I pointed out.
“And her mother...” the supervisor added.
Meanwhile José began to position the jack under the car. But when no one else responded, the Supervisor transmitted a second request: “All right...Are there any JERKS who would help fix a flat tire for a young lady and her mother??”
Two African-American guys came over. Upon seeing José, helping me remove the lug covers, the older of the two guys observed, “Well, there’s already a jerk helping here.” The humor of the workers was welcomed as it kept me from crying about the unfortunate situation I found myself in.
Watching José use the tire iron to loosen the lugs with great effort, I commented, “If I were loosening them, I’d probably be grunting out loud!” After all the lugs were loose, José jacked up the car, and I helped remove them. “Here, Ralphie,” I said to Mom as I handed her the lugs. She and José both laughed.
Then José noticed the cause of the flat: a broken razor blade, most likely from a utility knife that had fallen from some Dump patron’s load. It must have landed blade up between pavement cracks, laying in wait for an unsuspecting motorist. The blade was embedded deep enough in the tread to damage the tire. I told José that I had not had a flat tire on my vehicle in 10 years. He said I was lucky. Working at the City Dump, he gets a flat tire on his car about every three months. I laughed, “Yikes! I’m never coming here again!”
Nothing Goes Smoothly
We got the lugs off, but the tire was so oxidized, it would not budge. I asked José if he had any WD-40 to loosen the rust away, and luckily there was a can in his utility shed. I sprayed between the rim and the treads of the lugs. After a few minutes, we tried again to remove the tire. Together José and I tugged and kicked at the tire, but it still would not give way.
“I have an idea,” I said, “Let’s drop her and let gravity and the weight of the car work for us. She should pop right off, right?” It was a good plan, except that my emergency jack is not the “quick drop” kind. It is a “crank-up/crank-down” style. Still, it was worth a try.
As I lowered the jack and the tire came to rest on the pavement, the tire did give way about an 1/16 of an inch at the top. José confirmed it. I began to crank the jack up again. As it cleared the pavement, José began to “donkey” kick at the tire again.
Another Dump patron who was slowly passing by in his truck, said, “I used to do that for a living.” He suggested, “Kick it lower, on the corner of the rim, and then alternate sides.” And José did; kicking it six more times—left-left, right-right, left-left—the tire finally came loose. Mom and I cheered. I thanked the truck driver for his advice as José took the tire off and put it in the back of my car.
As I put the spare on, José sat on the ground to better position the tire. “Ralphie...” I said to Mom and I held my hand out to retrieve the lugs from her. I sat down next to José, and put the nuts back on the tire as I had been taught by my Dad: top of the star, bottom, right, left, bottom. I tightened them by hand first, continuing to alternating lugs as I did.
José lowered the jack and the spare tire came to rest on the pavement. He continued to tighten the lug nuts. When he was done, I put the jack back in my car. I told José I would say a special prayer for him at Church and Mom agreed, calling him our “Good Samaritan.”
Our trip to the Dump took more than 30 minutes. I was relieved we were able to find some help there, but the afternoon was slipping away and the tire still had to be repaired or replaced.
Finding a Bargain
Driving down Miller Park Way, I noticed a Firestone Tire Center with a “TIRE SALE” sale on its bay door. I turned into the shop and the service rep said it would be a 45 minute wait until they could look at my tire. If they could repair the tire, it would cost only $21. Mom and I decided to walk up the road to a Wendy’s restaurant for a late lunch and wait for the service center to call with their diagnosis.
About half an hour later, the service rep called and said the slash in the tire was irreparable. When he said the new tire was $74, I asked, “And that is the SALE price?” He assured me it was. I authorized the work, then Mom and I began our walk back to the service center.
As we walked, we discussed the unexpected events that derailed our afternoon. Often times, in the wake of a seemingly bad situation, we will tell each other, “It could be worse...” and then recount the ways how the situation could actually have BEEN worse.
This day, we were thankful to God that the Sun was out and the weather was mild and relatively warm. We were thankful for José’s help, and the humor of the Dump employees. We were thankful that the nearby service center was open and could take our vehicle in quickly. I was thankful the tires were on sale. I am thankful for being employed again, and able to pay for unexpected and necessary repairs. I am thankful my Dad taught me the proper way to change a tire, it helped me keep my focus immediately on what needed to be done.
Sometimes, it may take a little effort, but the right attitude can help keep a bad situation from getting worse. I don’t enjoy going to the Dump on the best of days, but this particularly inconvenient and aggravating trip became a memorable opportunity to count my blessings.
