Spending Saturday morning at the lovely Firestone Suite. Get comfortable. They’ve got coffee, TV, and that delightful aroma of fresh tires.
“Just a tire leak,” I said. “Bring it by at 8,” they said. “Shouldn’t take long,” I reassured.
It’s 8:45 and my RAV 4 with 184,000 miles is still waiting patiently in the parking lot.
So I whip out my lap top. “May be a while,” I thought. Saw a friend in the “Waiting Area.” (All you can do there is wait. It’s the name of the area.)
“What are you in for?” I asked. “Tires,” was his feeble reply. He too came in for a tire repair. “How long have you been in?” I ventured. “I got here Tuesday.”
Wow. A life sentence.
A guy in a uniform came out from the back. My friend’s eyes lit up. He stood. His countenance brightened. Maybe this is it! His ticket to freedom!
“Mr. Name Withheld?”
“Yes!”
“I’m afraid it’s bad news.”
“Give it to me straight, Doc.”
“We did all we could. But we don’t have any choice but to replace… ALL… FOUR… TIRES!!!”
“AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!”
My friend sobbed and collapsed into my arms. It was a bit awkward. I don’t even know him that well. But he needed somebody right then. I’m glad I could be there for him.
The team of mechanics led him away to small room where counselors were standing by to console him, and offer some manageable options with easy monthly payments.
I stumbled back to my seat, forlorn, yet hopeful. Surely I’ve kept my car maintenance schedule up to date and should escape without too much financial hardship or emotional trauma.
Yeah, right.
Then, at 9:05: “Mr. Harper?”
“Yes! That’s me!”
“I’m afraid it’s bad news.”
My heart sunk. But I remembered my friend. And I resolved not to be a big baby in public.
I said a quick, silent prayer. I stiffened my lip. “How bad is it?”
“You’re going to need ONE… NEW… TIRE…”
Oh, is that all? No problem!
“And with your warranty, your cost is only $28.”
I wanted to hug him. But this is a guy place. You don’t do that.
As I walked out, lighthearted and fancy free, the technician called out my name one more time. “Oh, and Mr. Harper?” “Yes?” I offered, with just a hint of trepidation.
“Nice haircut.”
I smiled. God really likes me.