hot dishwashing, flat tires, and german engineering

as i sit here in my unders - dripping in front of an industrial sized steel fan, creating a wind tunnel only rivaled by those at NASA, i realized that the hottest afternoon of the year was perhaps not the wisest time to do a load of dishes. the hot steam hissing from my ancient appliance raises the ambient temperature 12 degrees. and the consecutive decision that now would be the perfect time to make a scalding shot of espresso because of my caffeine addiction adoration? i'm now beginning to loathe myself on an unhealthy level. i feel like at this point i might as well put on my fur coat and take a quick jog around the neighborhood to really push my lightheadedness to it's maximum threshold.

the icing on this weeks cake was a few days ago. i was driving home after work, having not eaten anything in nine hours besides two saltine crackers and a dixie cup of lemonade - i was not in the most chipper mood. scratch that, i was seeing red. then my gas light flicks on to remind me that i'm STILL below empty, just like it was when i left for work. i was one mile from my exit on the freeway so i stomped on the pedal, just wanting to petrol up and get home.

it was around this time that i began to hear a steady pulsating noise. maybe it was possible to hear the sound of ones own rising blood pressure? i turn the music down to determine the source. having just spend $800 to fix my engine, i was mentally willing the car to get me to my destination hassle-free. it was around this time that the putrid aroma of burned rubber came wafting into my nose. excellent! i have a flat tire!

i crank the wheel hard right and punish the break pedal till it jerks to a resting position on the side of the road. i step out of the car and notice amongst the various road debris lies a crumpled, filthy styrofoam Red Lobster cup. was this the universe's way of telling me it's time for a life change? not in the mood for any philosophical thoughts about my future, i decide to stick with a tire change for now.

i flip open the trunk and wrestle the spare tire out, hurling it through the air and onto the side of the road like i picture Andre the Giant doing. this is my first tire change with a german vehicle and i find everything neatly packed into a perfectly engineered case. cursing myself for forgetting to replace my flashlight's battery years ago, i'm forced to use the screen of my cell phone as my primary light source.

i use the tiny light to illuminate my inventory; tire iron, tow-rope, a jack, and several metal tools that i've never seen before in my life. i grab the recognizable tools and begin the task at hand. i've changed many tires over the years, it's such a simple task and i just wanted to get it over with and be on my way. yet, as i place the car jack on the ground i realize i have absolutely no idea how it works. these über-geniuses took it upon themselves to design a car jack that defies all american laws of physics. teetering on the border of blackout-rage, i squint my eyes and shine my cell phone beam onto the instruction sticker on the side of this monstrosity. worthless. look guys - there are a couple things that are standard in this world. you aren't supposed to go making up kooky designs for fire-extinguishers, life preservers, or heart defibrillators. i'm fairly certain there is a charter in the geneva convention addressing these very issues.

a solid six minutes later i figure out which end goes up and i crank the car into the air so fast it looks like i'm churning butter on the side of the road. two wheels into the air and i'm ready to get these bolts off and call it a night. tire iron is in place. cue muscles. and...the bolt doesn't move an inch. this was quickly followed by a burst of raw masculinity as i kick the tire iron with all my might to push the bolt into submission. and yet...no movement. it was at this point that a dusty memory comes floating into the forefront of my mind about needing some sort of "key" to "unlock" the "tires".

i madly tear through the entire vehicle in search of this mysterious "key" and come up with absolutely nothing. now on the verge of tears (masculinity long deceased), i attempt to thumb through the 800 page owners manual in the pitch black, in search of some clue to the mystery key's location.

after 20 minutes of agonizing squinting i find the key tucked away in my center console. let the games begin! my arms move in a blur of motion as i change the tire so fast i momentarily consider calling NASCAR in the morning for an interview. as the changeover occurs i notice something out of the corner of my eye. out of nowhere, a man approaches me.

there is not another car in sight. no police cruiser to speak of. alarms immediately go off in my head. great! my car breaks down right next the ONE serial killer who happens to hide in the bushes next to my exit on the freeway. as we're taught to do with bear encounters, i stand to my full height and puff myself out, tire iron ready for action. i was flirting with the idea that he was german and i could exact my carefree revenge through the cold steel in my fist.

in a stern voice i shout to his rapidly approaching figure, "hey! can i help you?"

he just kept advancing towards me, without saying a word - michael myers style. my fist clenched tighter. when he's finally within arm's reach he decides that's the time to speak. he tells me that his car broke down and he's been walking for about four miles. having apparently exhausting all his words, he simply continues walking past me. so now i'm attempting to change the tire in the pitch black while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on charles manson, who eerily stops about 50 feet from me and stares through the shadows of the 525.

hastily, i cram the bum tire along with the bogus tools into my trunk and speed off before this creeper can $skin me alive and store my body next to my own german engineered tool kit.