Today I was driving back from my morning of running errands, and came across a car that was blocking the right lane. A small, grandma-ish woman was on the side of the road mumbling, and putting her hands in the air. Cars were swerving around her and the car. As I got closer, I rolled down my window and asked what she needed. She was very shook up and I told her I was just going to pull over at the next street. She looked panicked as I drove away about 20 feet.
Turns out, she had a blown out tire. I drove grandma's car onto the side street behind my car and asked her who I could call. Her son was 1 hour away, and when he didn't seem to have a solution... I was left to figure out a plan. Meanwhile, another woman pulled over to help and she walked to the next block to ask for help from the police who was dealing with an accident. Although the police couldn't leave the accident scene, they put a call in for some help.
None of us were sure how long this would take and I couldn't, in good conscience, leave grandma by herself. I also couldn't sit there and do nothing, so I started rummaging through her trunk for a jack and spare tire. I had already loosened the lugnuts, and was in the process of jacking up the car, when a nice man pulled up and offered to help. I brushed off my jeans and handed the tire iron over to him.
Part of me was disappointed that I couldn't finish the job, but Brooks was in the car wailing at this point, so I had to relent. As I left, the man said, "I don't doubt you could've done this... just look at them guns." I think he was referring to my flabby, noodle arms when he said that. Nevertheless, I think he was right. I could've got the job done... although I would've been much slower and probably would've missed getting the other kids off the bus. So, as much as it killed me, I let a man finish the job.
I'd like to think I looked like this:
But I have a feeling I looked more like this:
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