Partial Place Setting ---On Hwy 19

After a particularly bad week recently, I was driving down our local main thoroughfare, en route to the in-laws for the daily visit. Minding my own business, observing the speed limit, watching the road. But for all the watching, I never saw it. Just suddenly heard a loud "Bang!" Momentary panic! Was that ME? A quick glance in my rear view mirror revealed nothing unusual . Nothing behind me had burst into flames. Other drivers seemed unconcerned. The universe seemed to be unfolding according to plan.

I slowed and made the turn into the filling station. My tank was low. Filled it up. Paid. Adjusted my mileage meter. And started her up again. Oh-Oh. Now what? Something was definitely amiss. Heart in mouth, I got out to have a look. But sometimes you just know. Even when you're as mechanically clueless as I. And sure enough, the tire on the back right side was looking pathetically soft, well on it's way to flat-as-a-pancake. Groan.

Sat back in and gingerly moved the car to the side. Tried to take some deep breaths and gather my few remaining, scattered wits. Life is such a bully. Let's kick her while she's down. And keep kicking. Thank God for AAA and cell phones. The OC may not be here, but he left some capable sitters on call. Endured the thousand questions from the AAA lady, including [my favourite!]---"Are you calling from a cell phone or your house phone?" Tempted to answer "Oh yes. I'm just relaxing here in my easy chair. Nothing interesting on the telly. Just finished the last chocolate in the box. Calling AAA just for grins seemed like as good a way as any to alleviate my boredom." But I didn't. I knew which side my bread was buttered on. This woman had my life in her hands. I didn't want to give her any reason to make it even more unpleasant. So I was excruciatingly polite, and bit back anything that might have been construed as sarcasm.

In less than twenty minutes a tow truck arrived and a cheerful young man removed the offending tire and mounted the spare, and I was on my way. To the garage. Where the cause of the flat was discovered. The mechanic showed me a glint of metal. Morbid curiousity. I asked if he could pull it out to see what it was, since they were telling me it had caused enough damage that I'd need a new tire. He got some pliers and pulled. One inch, two inches, three inches, four inches. At four and a half inches it was finally out. The handle of a piece of sturdy cutlery. A tablespoon maybe, or a fork. Must have fallen off the back of a redneckmobile. Wish they'd keep their *#!#!%! cutlery in their kitchens!