After putting it off for a week, I finally got H's tire fixed.

I decided that before getting down to business, I should get some breakfast. So I drove to Kent and had some pansit, bbq, and lumpia for breakfast. There are a lot of saosawan for sale there; 4 for $5, but I don't need any, and Auntie R doesn't use the ones I buy her. They are still putting their suka on a saucer! hmph!

So then I got some gas and then drove myself back to the city, and took a look at the tire. Yep, it's flat. I opened the trunk to get the spare. There are a dozen pairs of womens' shoes back there, a hula hoop, a sleeping bag, some hubcaps, and a puddle of water. I moved it all aside to get to the spare. Minty green mold dust snowed down from underneath the spare well lid as I lifted it open.

I couldn't find the jack, so I called my dad. Just use the air pump, he said, and drive it to Discount.

I put the spare, the shoes, the hula hoop, the sleeping bag, and the hubcaps back into place and I got the emergency air pump out of my own trunk. I plugged it into the cigarette lighter and attached the hose to the tire and flipped the switch. No power. So I started the car and tried again. This time, the pump started buzzing and dancing on the sidewalk. You'd think that starting the car would be in the instructions of the emergency air pump. It's not.

So I'm sitting on the curb, wondering how many psi to pump it to. I was thinking, well, 100psi sounds good. As I sat there, I decided to read the tire to see if it would give me any guidance. It said "DO NOT PUMP PAST 40 PSI." Luckily, I was only around 20, and it seemed to be full enough.

I threw the pump in to the passenger's seat and started the car. 411 tells me that there's a Discount Tire in Northgate and one in downtown Renton. Renton is closer, but yick.

I hop on the freeway to Northgate and I'm noticing every bump in the road, wondering if the tire has gone flat again and if I should pull over and check. There are a lot of bumps in the road. Of course, as I'm driving, I see the corpses of fallen tires strewn into the shoulder, sliced into pieces by freeway-speed rim driving.

Anyway, I made it to Northgate just fine, and the guy said he'd check it out. I crossed the street and went into the doughnut shop and took my place in line behind some not-so-goths. These are white kids that dress in black, but they don't wear the make up and look healthy and cheerful. They don't know what to order, so I ask the doughnut kid for an old fashioned glazed buttermilk and a coffee frappuccino and sit down in a booth with a Weekly. The not-so-goths after some deliberation all order maple bars to go, separate checks.

There was a woman in the kitchen, just behind the swinging doors, speaking in very sing songy Vietnamese. No one seems to be answering her. I turn and look, and she's in the dining room with a naked baby. She has turned the far booth into her changing table, and speaking goo-goo vietnamese to her baby.

Hello! How are you! she shouts to the customer, who has been standing a the counter for a minute now. The doughnut kid rushes out from the back. Later a vaguely Latino man walks in. Hola! Como esta Usted? Usted quiere comprar un dona? The doughnut kid rushes out from the back.

I turn and look, she's smiling and cuddling her baby. Sorry for making so much noise, she says.

No problem, I say; usted habla espanol?

Si, un poquito, she says, smiling and cuddling.

Muy bien.

I finish and go back to Discount. Your car is not in our database, says the tire man. Are you sure your dad bought the tire at a Discount?

That's what he claims, but he might have bought them at Sears.

Well, he says, there's a nail going through the inside wall; we can't fix it, you'll have to buy a new one.

I ask, is the nail in there by accident? or did someone who hates me put it there?

Aw, nobody hates you, sir! he says, smiling.

You don't know that, I say, returnining his smile; I am a high school teacher.

I'll tell you what I'm gonna do, he says as he swings the monitor around, so's I kin take me a gander. He's going to replace the tire with a new one, which would run me around $130. Of course, he can give it to me for $33; with labor, etc. it's going to come out to $58.

I can do that, I say, handing him my debit card. I'm not sure if that little play was legit, or if he inflated the 'original price,' or maybe the fat discount itself was an inflated price . . . Who cares, it's the beginning of the month. If I run out of money in 20 days, I'll help myself to the coffee in their lobby.

And that's how I changed the tire, children. Now I'm going to go back out there and soak up that puddle of water in the trunk.