Dusk on Friday was a bit more eventful than I wanted. On the way home from work, my front left tire blew out. Fortunately, there was an area on the side of the road where I was able to turn off and figure out what to do. Sure, I could have called AAA. But there was a perfectly good spare in the trunk with all the tools to boot. And so, I turned on the hazard lights, pulled the spare out, and got to work.
While changing the spare wasn’t very difficult, I was quite surprised by how many people stopped and asked if I needed any help. The first person was walking along the street; later on, a second person drove up alongside me (there wasn’t any traffic behind him) and asked if I needed any assistance. And get this - the third person who wanted to help realized he couldn’t park where I was pulled over. He took the time to drive up a block, find a place to park, and then walked back to ask if he could help in any way. It really was quite something.
Fortunately, I didn’t need any assistance (and it wasn’t because I was trying to be stubborn or act macho). I had replaced a flat before for someone I used to date, and I realized I’m quite good at it. When I told my mom about how many people stopped, she remarked, “Well, that’s because it’s not California!”. I suppose people would only stop back home if I was a hot girl who was attempting to change the tire in her bikini. Then again, more guys would probably stop up here for that matter.
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“I suppose people would only stop back home if I was a hot girl who was attempting to change the tire in her bikini.”
Ah, Socal. So sad, but so true
I would stop and ask if someone needed assistance (even a man not in a bikini), but I usually don’t because I’m afraid that they might say yes. I have a very limited knowledge of car stuffs.
I resent that… I’d stop for you in CA…
… and any other hot guy without a shirt on