It was a dark and stormy night when the cops arrived.
I was broken down on the side of a highway; leaning on a full load of firewood and fuming. A bitter wind cut through everything. The sun had just set and the temperature was dropping fast. My hands were numb, my fingers hurt, and trying to warm my hands in the truck’s diesel exhaust wasn’t working. At my feet was a jack, a wrench, a zillion sockets (I’d just stepped on the tray and dumped them), and a completely destroyed tire. The wheel didn’t look good either.
I could probably hammer the wheel back into shape; at least well enough to get home. The tire was the problem. It was an odd size and I had no spare. I’d been to the store that morning and knew the tire I needed was in stock but it was almost closing time. How was I to get there?
I’ve always hated that tire.
A cell phone was deployed. I called Mrs. Curmudgeon to save my ass. I almost never call Mrs. Curmudgeon to save my ass. It’s my ass and I’m more of a “go down with the ship” person. Yet there I was; out of ideas and making the call.
She was not amused. I’d have preferred sleeping overnight in the back of my truck.
A police cruiser pulled up and flipped on his lights. Things had just gone from bad to worse. “Sure, why not?” I muttered.
At the same time, the Foxinator drove by. Not getting a good look at the truck involved, she though “I wonder who the loser is?” and drove by. (I later asked the Foxinator that whenever she sees a loser in distress, please check in case it’s me.)
As the cop swaggered up with his batbelt and the usual “flashlight in the eyes” routine. I braced for things to go pear shaped. Luck was not on my side. Yesterday had been a shit sandwich and today was a gravel enema. Sometimes you gotta’ ride things all the way to the bottom before they get better.