Okay, I've got this big lump on the side of my tire. Looks like it could blow without further notice. Count my bankroll - probably have enough to cover it. Maybe I'll write a check and get a couple days of float.
The kid at Big O Tire Center wants seventy-three bucks out the door. Seems a little high, but I wasn't sure that the tire would make it down the block for a second opinion and a competitive bid.
He puts my car up on the hoist and then the lard-ass manager comes along and yells across the garage at me, "All these tires are bad."
I yell back, "I know that."
"They're gonna blow," he says.
"Not all at the same time."
He decides to take one more shot. "They're unsafe."
"Living on the edge is what I do best."
Well, that pissed him off. I was waiting for him to say more word about my tires and I was going to tell him to go fuck himself. I guess he saw that one coming - he kept his mouth shut.
