One of my things lately has been trying to be a little less whiny and a little more grateful. So, I thought I would tell you the story about getting a flat tire at a 11:00 on the freeway.
I went to dinner a couple of weeks about with my sister in law. (My awesome, awesome sister in law who I love. Just had to throw that in. While I'm being grateful and all. She's a tender mercy just by herself.) We had a great night eating and talking, but it was time to head home. I was on the freeway and had gone exactly one exit when the road started to feel bumpy. I was driving through construction on a pothole ridden highway, so it wasn't until the loud popping noise that I thought much of it.
Tender Mercy: I was literally 100 yards from the exit. There was no shoulder. I made it off.
I pulled off the side of the exit and got out. Sure, enough, flat.
Tender Mercy: It was not a blowout; it was just flat.
Tender Mercy: I parked under a street lamp.
I first called my husband to get the number of our motor club. I then called the motor club. They said someone would be there in 25 minutes.
Tender Mercy: It took 5.
He knew where to look for the spare. He knew how to get the spare out. He had the tire changed in about 10 minutes. Here's where the irony kicks in: During the probably 45 minutes I had been on the side of the road at least 5 police cars (including one sheriff car) had driven by. As soon as my tire is completely changed, the car is off the jack and I am sitting in the driver seat waiting for the paperwork for the motor club, guess who pulls up behind me? That's right. Your friendly neighborhood policeman. Hey, at least one of them stopped, right?
I drove home on a donut at 50mph.
Tender Mercy: The donut didn't pop in one of the 7,000 potholes I hit on the way home.
I did make it home. In one piece. And a little more grateful for people who come rescue others from flat tires late at night.