Fighting Rain Since Philly

I had to drive to Chicago again this past Friday. In the days leading up to the drive I went back and forth between pure annoyance and a relieved excitement. Unlike the previous trip, my lead on an apartment was far more promising and there was a real chance of returning east with a place to live. I still had to make the six-plus hour trek, though, and I had to do it on a Friday evening. For those of you who don't know, night driving is not one of my strong suits as I have absolutely terrible vision, not to mention I was driving directly into rain. Ever since I drove two solid hours on 80 in a monsoon, I have had serious reservations about driving in weather of any kind. Essentially, I would have only been happy if it was the morning and it was sunny but not too bright. I'm none too crazy about brightness either. 

I left work at three o'clock that afternoon after changing out of my dress and heels. Earlier that day, a mother and daughter in the office told me they loved my shoes and I did a small dance before declaring they had only cost me six bucks. They make my toes scream, though, so what the mother and daughter didn't know is that I ran upstairs after I spoke with them and flung the shoes under my desk. I guess I could have kept them there but I ultimately stuffed them under my passenger seat, which is where they are now. So I started driving north west, letting the radio signals run out before I switched to CDs, noticing how low and large the clouds looked, and running through what could be expected for the weekend. I knew I had to like the apartment or else we might not have any place to live. I knew that I had forgotten to pack something but I wasn't sure what it was. I knew that I would get to see my boyfriend for maybe four hours, which wasn't exactly thrilling but it would have to do. And I knew that I should have brought more than a bag of pretzels for road trip snacking.

Then my car started blinking at me and that really pissed me off.

Now at this point you're probably wondering if there is anything I like, considering I've already bitched about rain, darkness, brightness, pretzel quantity, and now cars doing things they shouldn't. The fact of the matter is that nobody likes their cars doing things they shouldn't, so I feel that this one is fairly justified. Anyway, the low tire pressure light went off, which is problematic because my car has a history of leaky seams between the rims and the tires. One time I was driving home from college in my first year and the low tire pressure light came on. I didn't think that was a serious issue so I continued driving until the woman next to me at a red light did the roll down your window hand motion and said "You realize you're diving on a flat tire, right?" Woops. So I take the light seriously. I'd been driving for maybe an hour and a half so I hadn't exactly made a ton of progress at that point. I pulled off at the first rest stop I saw, got some gas, then began my search for the air pumps.

But they simply were not there.

I know that seems unbelievable, perhaps even impossible, but as far as I could tell I was not seeing anything that resembled an air pump. I tried to nonchalantly check out the tractor trailer area, but you can't exactly be nonchalant about that. So I kind of ho hummed around the parking lot for awhile, wondering if I should ask the man inside the gas station if he was hiding all the air. A pick up truck with an attached U-Haul trailer was parked a few spaces away from me. His truck and trailer ran perpendicular to the parking spaces and when he moved (fiiiiiinally) the air pumps appeared. Hoorah! I said to nobody. I snatched up the spot right next to the blue "Air" sign and I triumphantly leaped out of my car. I grabbed the rubber hose and looked at the nozzle on its end.

"Who the hell are you?" I asked the strange metal object. It looked like a dentist's tool and definitely not like anything I had ever used to put air in my tires. I tried a variation of methods to make it work. I think I hit it against my hand, pulled on it, twisted it, said please. I also noticed that the other end of the hose didn't appear to be hooked up to anything, as strange as that sounds, and I didn't see any air tanks nor did I see anywhere to put my quarters. Here's another thing you should know about me: I hate this bullshit that suggests a woman doesn't know anything about her own car. I make a relatively concerted effort to at least have an understanding of what is happening and why, so believe me when I say I was growing increasingly frustrated by this stupid little nozzle that I had never seen before. As I have a car guy, I called him.

"Please don't make fun of me for the questions I'm about to ask you."

"Go on," he said.

I described the thing as best I could, I told him that no, no, don't worry, when I press my thumb into the tire it does not feel low, but yes, it looks low. I continued on about the metal gadget and my theory that it's not real and this thing is broken. Then he asked:

"Does it look like the one dad has?"

Ugggghhhh I don't know if it's the one dad has. My car guy is my brother, by the way, so I think I'm allowed to be a brat to a greater degree. Brother said that I should be fine but to stop the next time I could and locate a real air pump. "Real" is my word, by the way, because I still wasn't convinced that this thing was of any good to anyone. I got back on the road, drove about seven miles, pulled off at another rest stop and was met with the same stupid contraption as before. This one looked slightly more legit, though, as I could hear the air, feel it moving in the rubber hose, and saw that its end was embedded firmly in the ground. I decided to play with the dentistry nozzle, performing the same basic methods as before, twisting and turning it, until the smallest hiss of air came from the downward facing valve. Deciding not to question my good fortune, I filled up my front tire to the best of my ability, stopping when I thought it looked fuller. Yes, I thought to myself, you will have to do for now. 

A man approached from the direction of the tractor trailer parking lot.

"Darlin', do you need help?"

Because I hate when anyone assumes I need help, let alone offer it, I really had to keep my temper in check. [Note: when asked in a job interview what my weakness is, I am for SURE going to tell them I hate help, don't want or need help, and don't like the assumption that I can't do it. And then I end up with way too much on my plate, wondering why in the hell no one offered to help me with anything. It's something I'm working on.]

"I don't know," I said to the man. "I filled it up. Do you think it looks ok?"

He took a step back and sized up the tire.

"Let me go get my tire gauge."

The wind was picking up and the humidity was effectively gone. I watched the puffy clouds spread out and start to rain on the distant highway to the west of me. I still had close to five more hours of driving left. I wasn't even in Indiana yet.

The man returned from the cab of his semi with the tire gauge. We had a brief discussion about what the weight of my tires should be and then I gave a really fast, really garbled explanation of why I had trouble with this particular air pump and I'm used to a needle and I've never used one that's meant for duelies before and a lot of other stuff that was meant to convince him but ultimately myself that I usually know what I'm doing but not right now, no, not really. I don't know what I expected; maybe a man who would validate my insecurities with a cutesy-but-condescending comment or a disapproving mini lecture about knowing the ins and outs of one's automobile. Instead he smiled and said:

"Darlin', that tire looks pretty darn good. Let's do the rest."

I checked the pressure in the first tire then made my way around to the other three with air hose in hand. The man held onto the gauge, handing it to me when my open palm appeared above my shoulder. I asked him if he thought I was driving into weather. He turned his face towards the sky and assessed the clouds, the same ones I assume he has driven under for years.

"I've been fighting rain since Philly," he said. "But at least it ain't snow."

I screwed the cap on the last tire and handed him his tire gauge. We wished each other safe travels and he began his walk back to his truck. He stopped a short distance away, turned around and said.
"Make sure you get one of these for your car. They're not expensive. Best to have one." He was waving the yellow gauge at me. I got back in my car and started it, the low tire pressure light flickering once or twice and then fading to black.

I'm happy that this man asked if I needed help. I'm happy because he was neither salacious nor patronizing, two attributes that are sadly common for women in distress. I like to think I have a fairly good sense of people's intentions when they approach me, but I've been wrong before. A couple of years ago I was getting gas at a neighborhood gas station and a man in a nice car, nice suit, and with a nice haircut was at the pump behind me. He was surely someone's father. I had no reason to distrust him based on looks alone, but as he was getting back in his car he paid me a lewd, over-sexed, threatening comment that I'm sure I was supposed to take as a compliment. Because he's a rich guy, right? All ladies want a seemingly powerful man to leer at her and then make her feel disgusting. Anyway, the man who helped me with my tire was a truck driver and he was dressed "like a truck driver." I suppose that other people might think of that as a red flag in itself, but because he reminded me so much of my dad, I basically knew what kind of character I was dealing with. Sure enough, he kept his distance, never attempted to cross any kind of boundaries, and walked away as soon as I was finished with his tire gauge. Best of all, he at no point made me feel stupid. He could have. He lives and works in a truck, his life is comprised of checking it and making sure it runs correctly. But he seemed kind of proud that I knew what I was doing. I don't even know the guy's name.

The drive to Chicago was fine. It rained from Toledo to Gary.

And the weekend was wonderful. I found an apartment AND boyfriend surprised me by literally appearing at the restaurant where I was eating dinner Saturday night. Brother has informed me that he has furniture he needs to get rid of so I can take any of it with me, and I've had a day of texts from buddies I haven't heard from in awhile. I received my first house warming gift last night from a former teacher, a framed Emma Goldman poster with a killer quote. Now all I need is a job! Minor detail, I think.