Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
Thwapthwapthwapthwapthwapthwapthwap...... You get the picture, right?
Stupid flat tire.
I -- quite rightly, I figure -- decide to get off the highway where people are flying by at 75+ miles an hour, and find a nice, quiet side street. The problem with nice, quiet side streets is that there is NO ONE coming by, flying or crawling. No problem, I tell myself. I'll just get out and MAKE SURE the tire is flat. Because apparently there is something ELSE that can make that noise?!? Oddly, the tires all looked fully inflated. So what the heck had been making that noise? Hey! I knew someone who could tell me!
Me: Hi honey!
Coach: Um, hi? Aren't you on your way home?
Me: Well, my phone is dying and I thought I should call you now and tell you that I thought I had a flat, but the tires don't look flat.
Coach: *pause* Why did you think you had a flat?
Me: Thwapthwapthwapthwap.....that's what I heard, and that's what tires sound like when they're flat. (People, you really don't want to know how I know this so well.)
Coach: And so is your tire flat?
Me: That's the thing. No.
Coach: So what are you calling me for?
Me: Good question. I'm hanging up now in case I need to call you again.
At which point my phone.... died. Because apparently it was in league with the tire tonight. Which? Kept making that noise when I decided to keep driving home. Which was how I came to find myself under the lights at an out of the way gas station (because really....why wouldn't I take the long, roundabout way home when potentially facing a flat tire in total darkness?). With a very flat tire. And a dead cell phone.
On the plus side, the pay phone at this little hole in the wall gas station? VERY clean. Good thing, too, since I had to use it to call Coach and ask him to climb up on that white stallion and come charging to the rescue. Okay, fine. He had to climb into a beat up, barely running Ford Explorer and pray like the Dicken's he could even find me to rescue me. Tomato, tomahto.