I had a first today: A blowout while driving. Well, not a blowout, but a flat.
It was kinda interesting - it didn't feel like I would have expected it to feel. It felt kinda like the wheel was just wobbling. So I pulled over to check what was going on, only to discover that my tire was flat. Not unlike my love life, actually.
So get this: I'm feeling all manly man, so I decide to put the spare on myself. 'Cuz, you know, I'm a guy's guy that way. There's only one problem. If you're gonna change the tire yourself, it helps if all the lugnuts on the wheel are the same size as the lug-wrench in the trunk.
Three outta four ain't bad, right?
So, yeah, I ended up having to call the theater and be rescued by someone with more than one size lug wrench.
I'm such a divo.
What's really knocked me out over this whole experience has been my reaction to it. I didn't turn into a fretting madman. I didn't freak out. I got out, I looked at the tire, called the stage manager to tell her I might be a few moments late to rehearsal, and set about changing the tire. Once I realized that my lug wrench didn't fit one of the nuts, instead of cursing and jumping up and down like a spaz, I simply called the company manager at the theater and asked for suggestions. She and one of the guys from the shop who has more tools than God has good intentions hopped into his truck and came to my rescue.
It all worked out. No one died from it, so what's to get worked up about? It was a little adventure.
Does this mean I'm achieving some sort of zen calm in my life, or just that I'm too damn tired to sweat the small stuff?
Can't decide.
It was kinda interesting - it didn't feel like I would have expected it to feel. It felt kinda like the wheel was just wobbling. So I pulled over to check what was going on, only to discover that my tire was flat. Not unlike my love life, actually.
So get this: I'm feeling all manly man, so I decide to put the spare on myself. 'Cuz, you know, I'm a guy's guy that way. There's only one problem. If you're gonna change the tire yourself, it helps if all the lugnuts on the wheel are the same size as the lug-wrench in the trunk.
Three outta four ain't bad, right?
So, yeah, I ended up having to call the theater and be rescued by someone with more than one size lug wrench.
I'm such a divo.
What's really knocked me out over this whole experience has been my reaction to it. I didn't turn into a fretting madman. I didn't freak out. I got out, I looked at the tire, called the stage manager to tell her I might be a few moments late to rehearsal, and set about changing the tire. Once I realized that my lug wrench didn't fit one of the nuts, instead of cursing and jumping up and down like a spaz, I simply called the company manager at the theater and asked for suggestions. She and one of the guys from the shop who has more tools than God has good intentions hopped into his truck and came to my rescue.
It all worked out. No one died from it, so what's to get worked up about? It was a little adventure.
Does this mean I'm achieving some sort of zen calm in my life, or just that I'm too damn tired to sweat the small stuff?
Can't decide.
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