I hate driving. I hate cars in general. It's no coincidence that perhaps the best 4 months of my life to this point were spent without a car to drive, relying completely on buses, trains, and (God forbid) walking. I wish that were possible where I live now, but it simply isn't. I could get into the environmental problems (and such) I have with driving but that's just boring and preachy - although I'm the first to admit that I'm often both boring and preachy. This time, however, I'll refrain.
I think part of my problem is that driving's too easy. Where's the challenge in getting somewhere if you don't have to look at a series of maps and timetables while braving unpredictable weather? There's no element of surprise, no problem solving involved in hopping in the car and going directly to your destination within the consistent climate-controlled comfort of a car (ooo alliteration). Of course, that's what many people love about driving. But for me, it's unfulfilling.
The reason I'm talking about this is the other day I got a flat tire on the way to my frame-for-frame vision of purgatory: Utah County. OK, no big deal. Just a flat. I jacked up the car, removed the lug nuts and then...the damn wheel wouldn't come off. I pulled and jiggled and pryed - the thing wouldn't budge. I gave up after about 20 minutes and decided to walk to the nearest TRAX station, take the train home, get Lindsay's car, then pick her up and head on down to Disneyland's antithesis. We would have to leave the car issue for the next day.
The next day came and I decided to look for some suggestions online of how to remove a stuck wheel. I read an idea that sounded risky, so I called Discount Tire, who told me to put my back to the tire and kick the sidewall. I tried this for a while, but to no avail. Luckily a guy from Discount Tire was nice enough to meet me where I was and help me out. He kicked for a while, then finally was able to knock it loose. I was relieved.
This is going somewhere I promise.
So I put the spare on and drove up to the shop to have the tire fixed. I'll tell you this - there are few places I feel more intimidated than at a car repair shop. I feel embarrassed to bring in my neglected car and talk to a mechanic - someone who knows more about my car by glancing at it than I do by driving it. The thing is, as I already said I don't like cars. And I always stand there thinking, "Man, they know I don't care about my car and they totally resent me for that. They think I'm a disgrace to the class of people who call themselves 'auto owners'."
In most social situations, I'm not afraid to admit my aforementioned loathing. But I always find myself wanting the mechanic's approval so bad that I'll act like I care. I won't let my cluelessness about engines, tires, brakes, etc. shine through because I'm worried they'll refuse to serve me if I appear indifferent about their livelihood. I'm pretty sure if I was left alone with a pack of mechanics, they'd choose to shun me rather than attempt to raise me as one of their own. There's simply no hope for an anti-autoist such as myself.
I think part of my problem is that driving's too easy. Where's the challenge in getting somewhere if you don't have to look at a series of maps and timetables while braving unpredictable weather? There's no element of surprise, no problem solving involved in hopping in the car and going directly to your destination within the consistent climate-controlled comfort of a car (ooo alliteration). Of course, that's what many people love about driving. But for me, it's unfulfilling.
The reason I'm talking about this is the other day I got a flat tire on the way to my frame-for-frame vision of purgatory: Utah County. OK, no big deal. Just a flat. I jacked up the car, removed the lug nuts and then...the damn wheel wouldn't come off. I pulled and jiggled and pryed - the thing wouldn't budge. I gave up after about 20 minutes and decided to walk to the nearest TRAX station, take the train home, get Lindsay's car, then pick her up and head on down to Disneyland's antithesis. We would have to leave the car issue for the next day.
The next day came and I decided to look for some suggestions online of how to remove a stuck wheel. I read an idea that sounded risky, so I called Discount Tire, who told me to put my back to the tire and kick the sidewall. I tried this for a while, but to no avail. Luckily a guy from Discount Tire was nice enough to meet me where I was and help me out. He kicked for a while, then finally was able to knock it loose. I was relieved.
This is going somewhere I promise.
So I put the spare on and drove up to the shop to have the tire fixed. I'll tell you this - there are few places I feel more intimidated than at a car repair shop. I feel embarrassed to bring in my neglected car and talk to a mechanic - someone who knows more about my car by glancing at it than I do by driving it. The thing is, as I already said I don't like cars. And I always stand there thinking, "Man, they know I don't care about my car and they totally resent me for that. They think I'm a disgrace to the class of people who call themselves 'auto owners'."
In most social situations, I'm not afraid to admit my aforementioned loathing. But I always find myself wanting the mechanic's approval so bad that I'll act like I care. I won't let my cluelessness about engines, tires, brakes, etc. shine through because I'm worried they'll refuse to serve me if I appear indifferent about their livelihood. I'm pretty sure if I was left alone with a pack of mechanics, they'd choose to shun me rather than attempt to raise me as one of their own. There's simply no hope for an anti-autoist such as myself.
2 comments:
Well you confessed. I guess I'll cancel your subscription to Auto Trader Magazine. You really did a good job hiding your hatred.
This is Ryan. Get a bike man, I have six. If you neglect your bike, you can just buy another one instead of fixing it. Just ordered some new fenders today to brave the rain.
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