cast of characters

Today I came out from work at 6 PM to find an extremely flat tire on my car. This should have been no big deal (especially with auto club), but I am stupid and never replaced my spare last summer, so I had to get towed somewhere that had tires. I called many, many friends and family members hoping one of them could check online for the nearest tire shop, but no one was near both his or her phone and a computer. Next I tried 411, but they could only look up city, state and business type, so I had them give me the number for the Shell I knew was a few blocks away. The Shell apparently didn't have an auto service department, but they knew of a Just Tires just up the block. Calling back to 411 I got the number for Just Tires and they had my tires in stock starting at about $50 a tire and were open until 8. Had the tow truck shown up when it was supposed to, by 7:15 PM, this would have been perfect. But 7:15 and no tow truck. I called the auto club back and stressed that the tire place closed at 8. They called the tow truck back and said they were 10 minutes away. 20 minutes later I called again to stress that it had been a very long time and I had to be at Just Tires before they closed. I got disconnected. A minute later the tow truck itself (the driver--not the vehicle--stoopid) called to say it was 4 blocks away. It was 7:50. We pulled up to Just Tires at about 7:59. It was completely dark and empty. Piece of shit. So the tow truck driver knows this place on Touhy and Western that's open 24 hours.
"They are so trying to rip you off," said my brain, "but right now, you have little choice in the matter." So we went to the 24-hour Marathon station. On the way there, the tow truck driver was very chatty.
"You cold? They have great hot chocolate...Is smooth jazz ok with you?" he asked. Oh dear god.
"Whatever," I responded with as little disdain as possible.
"So what do you listen to?" he asked.
"Mostly classic rock and real jazz." Real jazz? I'm such a snob/bitch. Just then we were passing the Aragon, so he told me about the private Ozzy concert he went to in 1991. He was a heavy metal manager with long hair and black leather. Now, he drives a tow truck. Odd career change. He flipped the radio to 97.1 FM, the most classic classic rock station and started singing along with Steve Miller. Upon seeing a Captain Morgan billboard he said "The last time I had hard alcohol I ended up in the hospital. I'm strictly a wine guy now. That was 15 years ago. What's your drink?"
"Pretty much anything."
"Wow. Classic rock and drinks anything? I could have used a girl like you 10 years ago." And he gave me the biggest smile possible considering he was missing his three top central teeth. I pointed out I was still a kid 10 years ago.

At the Marathon station the tow truck driver came in with me to make sure I got some of the hot chocolate, then was on his way. The hot chocolate wasn't anything spectacular but I was cold and starving so it did its job. The guy who came out to help me looked like he belonged in a boy band. His accent was heavy and something eastern European. I doubt he was much older than I am.
They didn't have my tires in stock but he could check the used tires to see if there was one that might fit my car. I swore and he looked somewhere between stunned and entertained. He went to go look and I insisted on staying within view of my car (my rip-off radar was going nuts so I was trying to stay as much in control as possible). An older man who smoked a brown paper cigarette thing and drank coffee while he shook and spoke like he had some sort of palsy came over to make conversation. He looked like he could use a bath and a shave, but his pants and shoes (clean and fairly nice) suggested he wasn't actually homeless. Clearly, he wanted to talk. He's the baby of his family, one of four kids, his mom was 5'2" and had blonde hair and blue eyes like me and his sister also had my coloring. He has a cousin who is 10 years older than him who takes care of him and helps out a lot. Once he gave someone on the side of the road his spare tire just to be nice but later regretted it when he had to buy a new one.
Considering the physical trouble he had speaking he had a lot to say and was actually fairly articulate. He asked my name and I told him. His name is Jay. He was the kind of character that would win someone best supporting actor, but there he was, the real, complex thing. Kind of incredible.

In the end the Backstreet Boy found me a tire he was able to reinflate and put on my car until I can get a real one. He started my car for me "just to check." The belt thing under the hood was making a lot of noise. I said that it shouldn't be making any noise because it wasn't making noise when I drove it to work in the morning and it had simply sat in the lot and gotten a flat tire since then. He tried to tell me I needed an oil change. I said I'd checked the oil last month and was still in good shape, but that I'd planned on doing it soonish, just not tonight. He did something that made the rattling stop, turned off my car, and said the "new" tire and change would only be $25. "You like that?" I was duly grateful (according to the charts on the shop wall, most motor clubs paid $25 for a tire change without a "new" tire.) When he gave the bill to the guy at the gas station register he said "Only $25. I take care of the lady." I felt moderately victorious.

Now I have to be at my parents' house by 9 AM-ish so my mom and I can go to Costco for a set of new tires before her haircut appointment. Then we can go shopping in Oakbrook for the elusive black kneehigh boots for which I have desperately been searching.

Another day, another adventure.