Yesterday was one of those days.
It was supposed to be a two-hour drive to Columbia for a several-hours-long meeting, then a return trip to teach a dance class at 7 pm, followed by rehearsal for “The Rocky Horror Show” from 8:30 ‘til 10 pm.
When I stopped for gas, I noticed there was a problem with a tire. It was almost flat and there was one huge bubble or knot on it. I was at an interstate exit that was most definitely NOT metropolitan, and I must admit that I don’t know how to change tires. I don't even know how to put air in tires! (Yes, shame on me!)
The owner was one of the two men; he came and looked at the tire and told me I couldn’t drive any more at all on that tire, which he thought had been cut, slashed or otherwise punctured. He didn’t have what I needed in stock but said he could order and have it there later in the day but it would cost extra for him to go pick it up and he didn’t have a delivery scheduled from the supplier in Columbia. The only spare I had was what is called a “doughnut” – not something to be driven on for much distance (or at my usual speed.) His employee put the doughnut tire on the car.
Since the tire supplier was in Columbia and only slightly out of my way to the meeting, the owner suggested that I go pick it up, then bring it back with me on my way home in the afternoon for him to put it on the car. The catch was that the supplier didn’t sell to individuals; it was wholesale only.