Monday Morning Curb Check

$450 is more than I usually spend during my lunch hour.

$453 if you count the tortilla soup I got at Taco Bueno.

Sometimes it pays to be a girl- other times it is dang expensive.

When it comes to car maintenance, I am helpless. I hit a curb this morning on my way to work, while swerving to miss a car who almost hit me. It was raining and they failed to look before darting into my lane. Cool. Exactly how I love to start my Mondays. Instead of getting in a wreck with another car, I narrowly missed him and let the curb and my back right tire take the brunt of it.

I immediately saw a warning, Low Tire(!) message flashing up at me. Awesome. I was close to work and so I called the man in my life, Dad, and then Roadside Assistance to let them know what had happened and what I needed, thus making myself late for an 8:30 meeting. Even more awesome.

Roadside Assistance called me at 10 a.m. to tell me that they were at my office to check out the tire. I met Aaron outside and he changed the now flat tire in a matter of minutes while I told him what had happened. He asked who my service manager was, I fished the card out of my glove compartment for him, and he told me he would handle making the appointment for me to take it in during my lunch break. Before I could try to figure out the logistics of getting back to my office sans-car, he even offered to take me back himself. What Aaron does not know is that his number is now stored in my phone for all of my car woes, and that I am so grateful for his help in keeping my father's sanity (who I called nine times before noon, btw).

As promised, I had an 11:30 appointment at my dealership, which is about a mile from my office. For such a time as this, the proximity of the dealership was a huge selling point for my parents when they got me the car. I arrived with my tail between my legs, so to speak, the girly girl who committed the high maintenance curb-check faux pas of the morning. Quickly realizing that I would not be getting my car back within the hour, I packed my purse with my auxiliary iPhone cord, extra case, charger, garage card for work, etc., and abandoned her to the experts.

My service manager took me into his office and began the question assault. Alright maybe not assault, but when I feel I'm at a disadvantage, I am automatically on the defensive. I called my dad again to find out if I had tire-protection insurance. "No- I thought you were a better driver than your mother."

Ouch. Low blow, Pops.

He was joking and tried to reassure me by saying he had done something like this before, had to replace the rim and the wheel and the whole nine yards and it was expensive and annoying but it was still far better than getting in a wreck and hitting another car.

I was on the verge of crying at this point, thinking of how stupid I looked, being a stereotypical girl and knowing so little about the situation and about my car and how it functions and how to fix it. I get so frustrated with myself when I don't understand something, and combined with the fact that I was gone all weekend in D.C. on a work trip, slept little the past three nights, it was a Monday, it was raining and I was stuck spending money on a tire of all things was just adding fuel to the fire. You know what I'm talking about- an Everything Cry. Not wanting to freak-out the entire service department, I chose instead to lament a pair of shoes I saw at Barney's a few weeks ago, thinking of how my money would have been so much better served in buying some new pumps; stimulating the economy and such.

I sucked it up, signed a few papers and followed the service manager to the loaner car they were giving me. Candy apple red, in case you wondered. Everyone made it so easy and painless, other than my near self-inflicted breakdown and the $450 dent in my checking account, I was just fine.

Curb: 450
Me: 0

Josh: You want to practice parking?
Cher: What's the point? Everywhere you go has valet.
-Clueless