When a tire check becomes a reality check

This isn't going to be one of my typical blog posts, so if you're expecting to read a cute/funny story about something my kids said or did, sorry, you'll have to wait a day. Last night, fate (God) threw a series of events my way that forced me to take a close look at my abilities and attitudes. And quite honestly, I don't like what I saw.

I left work and headed for the ice arena where AJ was having hockey practice. Jeff had arranged to go in to work a little late, so he could stay with the kids until I got there. As I drove down I-35, a few minutes into my trip, the low tire pressure alert suddenly lit up. I pulled off the freeway at the next exit and made it to a gas station. Sure enough, a walk-around revealed my front passenger tire was low. I used a tire pressure gauge and "free air" from the gas station and attempted to fill the tire, but knew it was a lost cause. I could hear a low hiss and could tell the tire had lost air just in the time since I'd first looked at it.

I tried calling Jeff's work cell. No luck. Next I tried his personal cell. Same result. The hockey arena is a loud place, I figured he just didn't hear it ring. Resourceful gal that I am, I started calling other hockey moms whose numbers were in my phone, figuring one of them could find Jeff and Sydney in the arena and tell him to call me. I started with Crystal – no answer. Rosie – she answered, but it turns out her son just switched to a different team so she wasn't at the arena. She gave me Kirsten's number to call – no answer. Michelle – she was at a different arena for her daughter's practice, but volunteered to call some other moms she knew. She called back a few minutes later to say she'd had no luck, and then reminded me of the horrible cell phone reception at the Carlton arena. No wonder I couldn't reach anyone.

As I'd been making the calls, I worked at clearing the cluttered trunk. I managed to get the spare tire out myself. The jack, however, was another matter. It would not budge!

I turned to Facebook for help, asking if any friends happened to be in West Duluth who could help.

I pride myself on my resourcefulness. When I was a reporter, it was a talent to know who to call (or who to call who can help you figure out who to call) to get the answers needed. It dawned on me last night that it's a pretty limited skill. Because it still leaves me dependent on someone else's willingness to help.

I continued struggling with the jack, finally looking at the owner's manual for help. It sure seemed like I was doing everything right. I figured it was just rusty and too tightly wedged in its spot.

Right about the time I friend responded that she could come help with the tire, Jeff called to say he was on his way.

That was about the same time I discovered an embarrassingly obvious bolt that had been holding the jack in place. Unscrew that and it's amazing how easy it was to remove the jack. Next challenge – where to position the jack. I hate feeling like a stupid, helpless female!

It was right then that a man approached me – an extremely fat, relatively unattractive man wearing a mechanic's style blue shirt. Because of his size, it was hard to tell if he was my age, or maybe a little younger. "What are you trying to do?" he asked.

"Trying to get a head start before my husband shows up," I answered.

Without another word, the man got down on his hands and knees, and started loosening the caps covering the bolts on the tire. Next he put the jack in place and started cranking. He actually apologized as he worked because if he'd been driving his other truck, he'd have had better tools.

Trying to make small talk, I commented, "I'm guessing by your shirt that this is something you do as part of your day job."

My guess was close. He told me was a service tech at a local lawn and sport company. (A store Jeff has been boycotting due to bad service on our lawn mower a few years ago. After last night, I'm suggesting we give the store another chance.) The man... it was hard to read the embroidered patch on his shirt while he worked, but I think it said Todd or Tony... went on to explain he'd gone to college for automotive repair, but then started working at a golf course, and that evolved into his current job.

By now he had the car elevated and was loosening the bolts on the tire. Seeing him put his full weight into the job, and seeing how the car jerked as he moved, I have no doubt I'd have been incapable of doing the job myself even if I had known what to do.

As I continued watching him work, it struck me that this is a man I likely would have ignored had I passed him on the street. Perhaps I would have given him a smile just to prove I wasn't a snob, but it would have been a patronizing smile at best. And I wonder if he knew that. Why did he feel compelled to tell me he'd gone to college? Did I seem condescending even as I stood and watched him do this incredible gesture?

The tire came off, revealing the nasty culprit. It wasn't the broken glass in the main intersection of Esko, as I'd suspected.

The man started attaching the spare. Right about then, Jeff arrived with the kids. The man reached up and shook Jeff's hand, and then continued to work, finishing his task – my task that he voluntarily took on – a minute or two later.

He refused to let me pay him even as a token gesture. Both Jeff and I thanked him. And then he left.

And I'm left feeling grateful. And horrible.

I've been taught, and I've taught my kids, that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. Years ago I had the chance to interview a World War II veteran who'd earned the Congressional Medal of Honor. The man was well into his 80s at the time. His body was frail and it was obvious he wasn't as mentally sharp as he used to be. But the story of what he'd once done, which he was very humble about, was amazing. I remember wondering to myself how many times have I passed a senior citizen, grumbling because they're in my way and driving too slowly, never giving a thought to the human being they are, the accomplishments they've achieved and the contributions they've made.

How many times have I passed someone and, based solely on their appearance, deemed them less important than me. Would I have stopped to help someone like Todd/Tony? I'm ashamed to admit I probably wouldn't.

But not any more. If only it were as easy to change bad habits as it was for a kind stranger to change the tire on my car. Wish me luck!