The low tire pressure light flashed on the dashboard of my Prius. (I know, I know. Using the word “Prius” sounds so pretentious. I just want to be more descriptive than merely saying “car.”). Clearly, Prius owning, I had to have voted for Biden and Harris, which I did.
Ergo, late afternoon while driving to our Covid Pod friend Karen’s place in the Hah-Bah (by that I mean York Harbor, Maine), Hannah and I stop at the Mobil station to get air in my tires, deflated by winter’s cold. Much to my chagrin, a BMW owner (not that there is anything wrong with that), is taking his sweet time trying to figure out the recommended tire pressure for his tires by, get this, looking for the numbers on his front tires in the near dark of late December.
We decide to return after an afternoon with Karen of walking in the aforementioned Hah-bah, drinking white wine, munching on apps, and later playing cribbage.
When we leave near 7P, a crusty inch of snow covers my Prius. Hopefully, Hannah suggests that we fill the tires in the light of day tomorrow. Stubbornly, I am of another mind. Laser focused, I am determined to fill my tires despite the snow and dark. You can already see that this isn’t going to end well.
At the Mobil station, air pressure service is no longer free and requires a credit card. Hannah quietly and gently brings up that we can do this in the light of day when it is not snowing tomorrow. I demur. You can see that I am not a reasonable human being.
Kneeling on the snowy pavement, upper 20s, bare-handed to attach the hose to my front left tire valve, I ask Hannah to flash her iPhone so I can find the tire valve itself. She can’t be pleased, but I avoid eye contact since I only have four minutes to fill all my tires.
Kneeling again in the pavement snow and my fingers chilling, I quickly go to each tire before my four minutes is up. Hannah is not smiling, and metaphorically shaking her head. Driving home, I see the low tire pressure light stays on. Damn, foiled again.
So what have I learned? Well, one, I need to go back to the Mobil station tomorrow. Two, filling tires on a snowy night in the dark is probably not my finest moment. But here’s the twist.
My humanity is reaffirmed. It’s a moment when I balance the real good decisions I make with this clunker. My occasional screw-up reaffirms that I am not perfect, which I never was anyway.
Wouldn’t you say that makes me all the more lovable? Perfect is never endearing. And now you know that you don’t have to go ten for ten with me either.