It was a cold and stormy night. Wait, sorry, that’s a lie. It wasn’t cold and it wasn’t stormy, either, but it was night. And dark as pitch. Late, too, well past midnight. So what was I doing rocketing along the interstate so late at night? Well, if you must know, I was on my way to work.
Maybe it’s just me, but have you ever noticed how creepy highways are when traffic is scarce? Every car, and there are precious few at that hour in this sleepy little burg, seems sinister. They can only be up to no good, right? Right.
Imagine my alarm then when I heard the first thump against my car. It was jarring, startling even, and I jumped. Almost immediately the distinctive sound of splashy, wobbly, uninflated tire filled the car. Great, I thought, I could pull over here and wait for an escaped murderer to come to my ‘aid’. Or I could drive on and ruin the rim.
I drove on.
For three or four miles I rode on the rim, half of it interstate. The loud grinding noise, and the occasional whappity whap, drowned out the radio, yes, but did not deter me. I drove until I reached the safety of the brightly lit parking lot at work. Men will be horrified, women will understand.
Both the tow truck driver and the mechanic at the service station looked nauseous when I related my adventure. My boss, a woman, looked relieved.
As for me, I was amazed. Stunned, actually. I mean, who knew work could be a place of refuge? I didn’t, not even in my wildest dreams. I always thought of work as penance — something we had to do, the price we paid for being atop the food chain. I suddenly saw work in a brand new and redemptive light. It was disorienting to say the least.
It wasn’t until later, as I retold the story for the umpteenth time, that I realized work hadn’t saved me. No. Work is why I was out on the road in the first place. Work was still the problem, not the solution. With that thought, order returned to the universe and all was right with the world.
Have a nice day : )
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