evolved but confused

As I stood there in the cold, unforgiving rain, my skirt hiked up to dangerous levels and muttering venomous observations about the reputed sexual activity of no one in particular; a dirty hose in one hand and a rocket in the other, it suddenly dawned on me that I had no fucking idea what I was doing.

I don’t know how to check the air pressure on tires, or how to fill a tire with the right amount of air. I had Ed check Lola over the weekend and he said my tires were dangerously low, needing at least ten pounds of air per tire. He offered to do the filling for me, as I had plans that afternoon. I am not so much a feminist that I will not take advantage of a man willing to do my errands for me, so I gladly accepted his offer. There are some things I just don’t do, and dealing with tires is one of them (the other things I don’t do include Kraft Dinner, rimming, sneakers, and reality TV).

Unfortunately, a particularly fascinating NHL ’11 game or twenty came up and Ed forgot all about my tires. Fast forward to this morning, when a streak of stubbornness made it impossible for me to a) wake up on time and b) take transit to work – I was determined to ride today, because I am sick and fucking tired of not being able to scoot due to the rain. I am feeling some serious cabin fever from the lack of freedom, and I can’t take it anymore – so I rode into work, damning the rain and everything else around me. Since Ed didn’t put air in my tires, the job fell to me. No big deal – I’m an evolved and independent woman; proud and fierce and wholly capable. I can (in theory) make an entire new human being out of little more than a jelly sac and a teaspoon of man sauce; I should be able to put some damn air in my own tires. I don’t need a man! Hear me roar, and stuff!

Um, no. I had no fucking idea what I was doing. I think I got some air in the tires – the hose made a wooshing noise, and then the stick shot out further than it did before when I attached it to the nozzle somehow. This is all speculation, of course – for all I know, I actually removed air and now I’m riding even more dangerous than before. Who knew air and tires were so complicated? There ought to be a digital readout that tells you how much air you have and when you’re low. I ride a futurist triumph of form and function, and I demand that my scooter cater to my natural incompetence. Why should I have to LEARN? I want things or people to do these things for me!

Stupid tires. Stupid dirty hose. Stupid NHL ’11. I hate everything.

5 thoughts on “evolved but confused

  1. You’ll be happy to know that newer vehicles do in fact tell you when you’re low on air. :D

    At least, my old mini van did. You clearly need a minivan.

  2. Hahaha I love you.

    Canadian Tire sells digital tire pressure guages, and they take all the guesswork out of tricky tire business. They’re small too, mayhaps even tiny enough to stuff under a scooter seat. :)

    Whenever I’m faced with a similar vehicular dilemma, I put on my best distressed damsel face, and within seconds there will be a guy offering to help. Seriously. Guys love how macho and heroic they get to feel when they assist with mechanicky things they could probably do in their sleep.

    I even got cops to change my flat tire once. In the rain. Guys can’t say no to a request for help!

  3. Oh come on, it’s not hard to learn how to read an air gauge and the proper inflation pressure will be in your owner’s manual. I did a google search and it looks to me like you’d be ok with 20 to 25 lbs in the front tire and 30 to 36 lbs in the rear tire. Playing the “helpless female” card is only ok if you aren’t helpless. Learning curves are for winners. Climb baby, climb.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s