Road Trip: The Voyage Home
Unfortunately my version of the Voyage Home did not involve transporting Whales from the past into future Kirkian times; at least then it would have been an adventure to which I could have gleaned a minor amount of enjoyment (and would have been able to exploit my Shatner-Girdle to any and all that would have wanted to get me into a wrestling clinch...heh...a boy can dream of corsetted corpulence and the sweaty embraces of space aliens out to Off me or smother me with otherworldly affection).
Nope.
I had to have me a Tire Blowout in the eastern environs of Colorado.
Joy.
Most folk, when hearing mention of this particular state, envision the entirety of it comprised of mountainous terrain. Surely, a great portion of Colorado *is* just that...the rest of it that is *not* can be safely referred to as an extension of the boredom that is Nebraska's landscape; flat ass nada.
It was in these surroundings on a stretch of I-76 that a tire on my vehicle decided it was well past its time to explode...and throw a monkey wrench into my plans of getting home in a timely manner (in fact, not only was there a metaphoric monkey wrench thrown...there was also a Literal Monkey-like fellow wrenched AND thrown about the interior of the vehicle when things went 'soft' in the rear driver-side tire).
Due to the extensive Damage done to the tire (holes in both the tread *and* the sidewall (the latter the size of a chimpanzee's fist...from what I can tell when I'm squinting at the Primate House from a distance of 20 feet, that is...what do I look like? Jane Goodall? Well...maybe from a distance of 20 feet I might appear to resemble the famous Monkey Lady...but let's end this digression before y'all go...heh...Ape) AND the fact that most Automobile Companies have sworn off Full-Sized spares for the glory and stupidity that are Donut-Spares, I had No Choice but to find a place-- any damn place-- that could replace the tire itself (thankfully the Rim was intact).
Wal-Mart.
And so another of my Records bit the dust.
The record in question was that, in my entire lifetime, I had never set foot inside a Wal-Mart and had plans to keep it that way.
Until this fateful day when *all* the tire shops in loverly Fort Morgan, Colorado decided that the day after the Fourth of July was a damn fine day to take off and stick it to me and my record.
Ho Ho Ho.
Having No other choice (and a burning desire to get myself home) it was with great internal turmoil that I trod into said store and put the order in for a new tire.
Informed that it would take about an hour and a half (they were extremely busy...probably because of all the other tire and auto places being Closed on this particular Saturday) the Clerk pointed out that there was a Snack Bar near the front of the (enormous) store and that, if it were to my liking, I could bide my time there...p'raps enjoying a cold beverage or a roller-heated weiner.
Mmm-Hmm.
Leaving the clerk behind I made a bee-line for the front doors in order to have a smoke to help 'calm' my rattled (and monkey-jostled) nerves. This route took me past the infamous Wal-Mart Greeter-Brigade and their faux-smarmy-Hey-Hos (reminding me of a horde of hopped up elderly orangs waiting to fling well-aimed feces in my general direction...a Pongo Pygmaeus 'Howdy-Doo' as it were).
Tossing "G'days" my way I ducked *and* ducked out without returning the Farewells and Waves of the 'friendly' gaggle of oldsters as I knew I was going to be coming right back through as soon as I had some sooty goodness choked down.
As it turns out--after several trips in and out of the store-- these Greeters do not appreciate being snubbed (probably a provision of their contracts and/or a trait looked for in the Wal-Mart hiring process) and quickly changed their tune in regards to the scowling and tobacco-stinking lout storming in and out of *their* store. Out went the pleasantries and In came the Eye-Javellins...inexpertly chucked at my trundling form...as if they'd never experienced a fellow that didn't acknowledge their forced friendliness (this could very well be the case in a town the size of Fort Morgan...snide City Boy that I be).
This made my day *and* my first visit to Wal-Mart all the More enjoyable...even if I ended up losing Three Hours of travel time.
T
Unfortunately my version of the Voyage Home did not involve transporting Whales from the past into future Kirkian times; at least then it would have been an adventure to which I could have gleaned a minor amount of enjoyment (and would have been able to exploit my Shatner-Girdle to any and all that would have wanted to get me into a wrestling clinch...heh...a boy can dream of corsetted corpulence and the sweaty embraces of space aliens out to Off me or smother me with otherworldly affection).
Nope.
I had to have me a Tire Blowout in the eastern environs of Colorado.
Joy.
Most folk, when hearing mention of this particular state, envision the entirety of it comprised of mountainous terrain. Surely, a great portion of Colorado *is* just that...the rest of it that is *not* can be safely referred to as an extension of the boredom that is Nebraska's landscape; flat ass nada.
It was in these surroundings on a stretch of I-76 that a tire on my vehicle decided it was well past its time to explode...and throw a monkey wrench into my plans of getting home in a timely manner (in fact, not only was there a metaphoric monkey wrench thrown...there was also a Literal Monkey-like fellow wrenched AND thrown about the interior of the vehicle when things went 'soft' in the rear driver-side tire).
Due to the extensive Damage done to the tire (holes in both the tread *and* the sidewall (the latter the size of a chimpanzee's fist...from what I can tell when I'm squinting at the Primate House from a distance of 20 feet, that is...what do I look like? Jane Goodall? Well...maybe from a distance of 20 feet I might appear to resemble the famous Monkey Lady...but let's end this digression before y'all go...heh...Ape) AND the fact that most Automobile Companies have sworn off Full-Sized spares for the glory and stupidity that are Donut-Spares, I had No Choice but to find a place-- any damn place-- that could replace the tire itself (thankfully the Rim was intact).
Wal-Mart.
And so another of my Records bit the dust.
The record in question was that, in my entire lifetime, I had never set foot inside a Wal-Mart and had plans to keep it that way.
Until this fateful day when *all* the tire shops in loverly Fort Morgan, Colorado decided that the day after the Fourth of July was a damn fine day to take off and stick it to me and my record.
Ho Ho Ho.
Having No other choice (and a burning desire to get myself home) it was with great internal turmoil that I trod into said store and put the order in for a new tire.
Informed that it would take about an hour and a half (they were extremely busy...probably because of all the other tire and auto places being Closed on this particular Saturday) the Clerk pointed out that there was a Snack Bar near the front of the (enormous) store and that, if it were to my liking, I could bide my time there...p'raps enjoying a cold beverage or a roller-heated weiner.
Mmm-Hmm.
Leaving the clerk behind I made a bee-line for the front doors in order to have a smoke to help 'calm' my rattled (and monkey-jostled) nerves. This route took me past the infamous Wal-Mart Greeter-Brigade and their faux-smarmy-Hey-Hos (reminding me of a horde of hopped up elderly orangs waiting to fling well-aimed feces in my general direction...a Pongo Pygmaeus 'Howdy-Doo' as it were).
Tossing "G'days" my way I ducked *and* ducked out without returning the Farewells and Waves of the 'friendly' gaggle of oldsters as I knew I was going to be coming right back through as soon as I had some sooty goodness choked down.
As it turns out--after several trips in and out of the store-- these Greeters do not appreciate being snubbed (probably a provision of their contracts and/or a trait looked for in the Wal-Mart hiring process) and quickly changed their tune in regards to the scowling and tobacco-stinking lout storming in and out of *their* store. Out went the pleasantries and In came the Eye-Javellins...inexpertly chucked at my trundling form...as if they'd never experienced a fellow that didn't acknowledge their forced friendliness (this could very well be the case in a town the size of Fort Morgan...snide City Boy that I be).
This made my day *and* my first visit to Wal-Mart all the More enjoyable...even if I ended up losing Three Hours of travel time.
T
posted by Tony at 7:10 PM
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