~ Our last installment found us smack in the middle of my second blowout in 15 minutes, on the most dangerous highway in California, coming out of a steep, decreasing-radius curve and with no turnout in sight - when suddenly, ~
A TURNOUT! *whew*! As the road straightens out, there it blooms along the roadside like a sweet mirage: a wide, sweet turnout. Long enough to be called a shoulder, really. I stop right in the middle of it.
So we both get out, and I look at her (A word about her. When the shows were announced, I immediately procured two tickets for each evening, not being willing to miss either night. My girlfriend, however, felt she didn't want to see the same band two nights in a row. So I asked a friend to come to the first night's show, and she was pretty psyched about it! although not particularly familiar with the band. Anyway, so we both get out, and I look at her) and I look down at the tire, and I look back up at her and say "this means we aren't going to get to see the show!"
And I'm crestfallen. And after all the travails of the evening so far, and my heroic tire-changing and impressive emergency driving skills, and my general comportment and demeanor that would have led anyone to conclude "he's ALL MAN," I feel as though I'm about ready to cry. I especially feel that I've really let down my poor Toyota Tercel, who had been basking in the admiration of an unfamiliar passenger (a truly impressed: "wow, this thing's really got a lot of pickup!" albeit perhaps with an unspoken: "...for a piece of crap!"). And when I took that front right tire off, I could see that the tread was worn down. I should have paid better attention. So I'm standing there, having let down my not-date and my car, and myself, and with no one else to blame I have uttered the words: "this means we aren't going to get to see the show!"
I call Triple-A. It is 6:35 PM. Seating at the show has begun. Show starts in one hour. The tow truck is en route. It will be here no later than 7:24, they say.
And I'm sitting there on the guard-rail, thinking. They can tow my car all the way home. I'm a AAA-Plus member. HEY, DO I NEED TO WAIT HERE FOR THE TRUCK?
Yes I do. They said so on the phone, remember? You already had that idea.
Yeah, but - if the truck gets here on time and we call a cab -
And just as I'm thinking this, she says, "they have an opening act, don't they?"
GOD BLESS YOU, PETE YORN!!
Yes, they do! Cab called! Tow truck arrives at 7:35! Cab arrives just as truck finishes up! 7:48! We're walking into the show together to the fading strains of a song, and I can hear the voice, and it's not Neil Finn!
Wash hands, concessions stand, wait this is a winery isn't it?
A bottle of "Red," please!
We're going to get to see the whole show!
What a perfect evening.
A TURNOUT! *whew*! As the road straightens out, there it blooms along the roadside like a sweet mirage: a wide, sweet turnout. Long enough to be called a shoulder, really. I stop right in the middle of it.
So we both get out, and I look at her (A word about her. When the shows were announced, I immediately procured two tickets for each evening, not being willing to miss either night. My girlfriend, however, felt she didn't want to see the same band two nights in a row. So I asked a friend to come to the first night's show, and she was pretty psyched about it! although not particularly familiar with the band. Anyway, so we both get out, and I look at her) and I look down at the tire, and I look back up at her and say "this means we aren't going to get to see the show!"
And I'm crestfallen. And after all the travails of the evening so far, and my heroic tire-changing and impressive emergency driving skills, and my general comportment and demeanor that would have led anyone to conclude "he's ALL MAN," I feel as though I'm about ready to cry. I especially feel that I've really let down my poor Toyota Tercel, who had been basking in the admiration of an unfamiliar passenger (a truly impressed: "wow, this thing's really got a lot of pickup!" albeit perhaps with an unspoken: "...for a piece of crap!"). And when I took that front right tire off, I could see that the tread was worn down. I should have paid better attention. So I'm standing there, having let down my not-date and my car, and myself, and with no one else to blame I have uttered the words: "this means we aren't going to get to see the show!"
I call Triple-A. It is 6:35 PM. Seating at the show has begun. Show starts in one hour. The tow truck is en route. It will be here no later than 7:24, they say.
And I'm sitting there on the guard-rail, thinking. They can tow my car all the way home. I'm a AAA-Plus member. HEY, DO I NEED TO WAIT HERE FOR THE TRUCK?
Yes I do. They said so on the phone, remember? You already had that idea.
Yeah, but - if the truck gets here on time and we call a cab -
And just as I'm thinking this, she says, "they have an opening act, don't they?"
GOD BLESS YOU, PETE YORN!!
Yes, they do! Cab called! Tow truck arrives at 7:35! Cab arrives just as truck finishes up! 7:48! We're walking into the show together to the fading strains of a song, and I can hear the voice, and it's not Neil Finn!
Wash hands, concessions stand, wait this is a winery isn't it?
A bottle of "Red," please!
We're going to get to see the whole show!
What a perfect evening.
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