By Andrea Rouda
FOUR DAYS ago a UPS delivery guy alerted us to a flat tire on my car parked in our driveway. I was glad it hadn’t happened while I was driving, but I wasn’t glad it had happened. Being an old-fashioned female (afraid of bugs, can’t change a flat tire), I relied on my husband to fix it. But he was powerless since my 2022 Audi A4 came equipped with a spare “donut” tire, but no tools with which to change it.
We called AAA and an hour later the technician arrived. This being 2022, she was a female! Or at least she looked like one, who knows, I did not inspect her or ask her pronouns. She worked hard for an hour or more and finally put the silly temporary tire on, warning me not to drive over 50 MPH or over 50 miles until it was replaced with a real tire.
Today I drove, with trepidation, to the Audi dealership to have a replacement tire put on. The job took about an hour. I sat in the service area waiting room reading a book and eating some Planter’s peanuts from the complimentary snack basket. It was pleasant enough, with floor to ceiling glass windows all around, comfortable leather furniture and a fridge full of bottled water, but still after about 45 minutes I was anxious to get the heck out of there already!
A middle-aged woman sitting across from me who was there when I arrived seemed quite content. She sipped a cup of coffee, munched on some cookies and read a book or scrolled through her cell phone. Finally, hearing me sigh audibly while I checked my watch, she caught my eye and said, “I love it here! I’ve been here since 8:30 this morning.” (It was then about 3pm.)
“You love being here? Why is that?”
“Because none of my kids are pestering me and my husband has to stay at home while they put on a new roof instead of me. It’s like I died and went to Heaven.”
I’m not even sure if she had a car in the repair shop.
—Andrea Rouda blogs at The Daily Droid.