On my way home Friday, I walk into the parking deck where my truck has been resting for the day. It is the truck my father handed down to me, the truck that bought by his father and owned until my grandfather passed. It has been getting me back and forth the small commute to work. It is not terribly fuel efficient (other than it has a small engine) nor environmentally friendly (it is close to 35 years old). But I don't drive it much, and we can't afford better right now, so we have counted ourselves fortunate to have it.
So, yeah, my tire was flat. I cursed my luck, but figured I could get a spare on it and get it home. If it had to sit for a while, at least it would be sitting at home. Fortunately for me, Friday was a "casual day" at the office, so I had on jeans and a fairly comfortable linen shirt. Over the course of the next hour, I did what I could to prevent them from becoming as filthy as I was quickly becoming. It seemed that thirty odd years of dirt and rust had come back for revenge on me. After consulting the owners manual and my father by phone, I finally figured out the mechanism that kept the tire chained to the underbelly. It was like that old game, Mousetrap. I swear all that was missing was a washbasin and a net to fall down on me.
With the old tire removed and the spare tire in place, I let the jack down to discover that my spare is also flat (I confirm with my father later that he had never used it either). I curse my luck again, more frustrated and filthy. I call Naginata to come and pick me up. The truck will have to wait for now.
Later that night we consider our options. This paycheck we are stretched to the limit, but I am determined to call and get a quote on a single tire to replace the flat. If we can get one cheaply, we might have enough pride to eat to ask for a favor from a friend. We table the issue for then and decide to relax by catching up on some TV.
No sooner than we've finished watching one program and are starting another, the TV catches fire from the inside. I can see the illumination of the flames on the wall behind the set and I scramble to get it unplugged, hoping that will be enough. It is, but it feels appropriate, as aggravating as it is. It's all circumstance and I acknowledge that this is what we've been fighting all along. When we come down to it, a small string of events is enough to kick our teeth in. We have good income, but we make poor decisions with it, limiting our financial resilience.
On Saturday, I get a quote for a tire. It's going to cost us $42. It's $42 dollars we don't have. I mean, we could probably hock some stuff at a pawn shop to raise the money, but there is no reason that amount of money should grind us to a halt.
I'll skip the boring stuff. Everything does work out in the end. One of Naginata's parents brought over a spare TV they'd been meaning to give us and they were going to help us tow the truck back, but decided it would be better for all involved if they just bought us a new tire. The truck is back at home and we managed to survive.
The experience was disheartening, but it bolstered my resolve in this endeavor. We could look at this as some sort of cosmic joke played on us by the powers that be, but I choose to take it as an affirmation that we have started this journey so that a year from now, we will be in a place to not feel like the world has collapsed, just because one tire has.
If this is our battle, then we should heed the words of Sun Tzu:
Translated (by G.I. Joe):"Now the general who wins a battle makes many
calculations in his temple ere the battle is fought.
The general who loses a battle makes but few
calculations beforehand."
"Knowing is half the battle."
Now that we know our enemy, we can begin to plan our strategies. I confess I'm no general, but I did have lots of G.I. Joe action figures as a kid, so I think that makes me partially qualified.
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