Frantic Friday

Since I was able to get to sleep at a normal time on Thursday night and wake-up on my own in the morning, which is a good thing, I knew that Friday would be an interesting day.

I went into the office for a bit, worked on some stuff and then left to get the new tires for my car. The tire store I went to starts with an F and has a mascot inspired by celtic lore, that's all I'm sayin'. The reason we chose this place was because they had the tires I wanted on sale, Yokohama AVID TRZ's; great all-season grand touring tires; the quote on the phone was $97 per tire, so with all four mounted, etc it was going to be around $430 out the door. Dad gives me his card to go get them, a late Christmas/Birthday present, so to speak.

The drama begins after I get there. I tell him what I need and he does the math, after waiting on the phone for 10 minutes from the main store or what ever he was talking to, and he says that the tires are now $148.90 a piece and it would be around $610 for all four to be mounted. Needless to say, my jaw hit the floor. Since I was using Dad's card, I called to make sure that this was what he wanted. After about six tries, I finally talk to him; he wasn't happy. So I hand him the phone, and the conversation between him and the guy at the desk was interesting, he did something even I'm afraid to do...interrupt him and talk down to him. I'm standing there, embarrassed as hell since I'm in the middle having of all this, and having my dad handle this while being 25; it made me feel like a little kid again...

So after talking for a few minutes, this tire shop agrees to knock ten bucks off the price per tire, dad says to get it done. I then go to sit down and wait, as I'm sitting there the guy at the desk starts talking shit about my dad, like I couldn't hear it. So I ignore it. During this time Dad's trying to call me to tell me to not get the tires, for some reason I didn't hear my phone ring or feel it vibrate. While I'm sitting there they call my name, so I'm thinking there's something wrong with my car, or it's doing the thing where it won't start since it doesn't register that it's in park; nope, they want me on the phone. That's when dad tells me to stop and not get the tires, so I go tell them what's going on.

During this time they have pulled my car into the bay and have the tires next to it, ready to put on. The head guy asks one of the other mechanics to back out the car, he then goes "he can do it himself." So I trudge through the shop in my designer shoes and pants, dragging them through oil, grease and who knows what else to get into my car and just go.

So in the end, I have to figure out what to do about my pants and my car still doesn't have new tires......