Last Saturday night, Tasia and I were cruising to Drake in her Volkswagen when boom! She ran over a median and busted her two front tires.
Luckily we were right next to a gas station. Unluckily, we were in our club clothes and know diddly about cars.
Buts tooted in the air at a poorly lit gas station, of course, tons of dudes offered to help us, and all of them looked shifty. However, an old guy and his wife were nice enough to help us out, changing the front right tire. Tasia figured she could drive home with the other flat, seeing that it was just a "slow leak." Apparently, it's not a slow leak when you can put your fist through the tire.
Some background: Tasia and my's friendship has all the makings of a Lifetime love story. I live in "the hood" (aka: an all black neighborhood) and she lives in Alpharetta, (aka: a predominately white suburb). While I saw us in a situation where we had a flat, she was really scared.
So, after calling all the boys she knew to help us, all of them having an excuse as to why they couldn't help, we decided to park the car in front of the gas station and just call a cab to take us to my house. There was a closed tire shop next to the gas station. We would come back and get it fixed then.
Long story short, the cab never came. Tasia was too scared to leave the car, so we slept in it. My night was filled with people knocking on the window to inform us that we were in a bad neighborhood, including the community prostitute, as Tasia slept like a baby. At one point, I woke up a panic, unable to find my phone, which had fallen in the backseat. It. Was. A. Nightmare.
That morning, I walked over to the tire shop to see that they are closed on Sundays. Of course they were. And FYI, apparently all tire shops are, accept Firestone, which is where her aunt and uncle took us in the morning. I could just feel they blamed me for the whole situation.
Lesson learned kids: get AAA, no matter what the cost.
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