Great Leap-Froggin' Line-Jumpers!

Val has a bee in her bonnet again! Causing her fingers to type up some stinging criticism of her fellow tire-leakers. Shame on them for not adhering to The World is Fair Doctrine! How dare they!

You might recall that T-Hoe has a slow leak in his left rear tire. It's been leaking since June or July. Hick has been notified time and time again. Since the original request for fixage, Hick has put two new tires on SilverRedO! Yet only says that T-Hoe's problem will be hard to solve. Poppycock! His latest excuse is that the tire probably has dry-rot! Which I'm pretty sure it didn't have seven months ago, when a simple plug would have fixed the problem, allowing me seven months of worry-free driving, without stopping to steal FREE AIR every couple of days.

Anyhoo...on Saturday, I saw that the tire needed 8 pounds of air to reach the recommended 35 psi, with a couple to grow on, since it would immediately start leaking again. I pulled up to the air hose at the Gas Station Chicken Store. Nobody was around, for once. I had that valve off faster than an Indy 500 pit crew. Practice makes speedy, you know. I put the hose nozzle on the tire stem, and didn't feel the air whooshing in as normal. When I adjusted the linkage, I heard a HISS, but I was pretty sure that was air whooshing OUT of T-Hoe's tire. We can't have that! I tried a couple more times, with the same result. Dang it!

I procured my 44 oz Diet Coke, and climbed back into T-Hoe, where I discovered that the tire now needed 10 pounds of air! I headed across the moat by the back alley, to Casey's. Huh. There was a guy already at the air hose. I went inside to do my scratchers business. When I came out, that guy was still there. Dang it!

I was in no mood to sit around and wait. It was already after 3:00, and I hadn't had lunch. I figured I'd get my air on Sunday, over at the Sis-Town Casey's.

Sunday afternoon, I set out on my mission. I parked in front of the Casey's, did some scratcher business, came back out, and started over to the air hose. It's at the back exit, and had been empty when I arrived. I had wanted to do my scratcher business first, so I didn't tie up the air hose leaving T-Hoe parked there when I went in.

As I backed T-Hoe out of the store-front parking space, two cars pulled up at the air hose. Dang it! I needed 10 pounds of air now (no extra leakage overnight, because it was 76 freakin' degrees on February 2, and the air was more expansive). I pulled into a parking space over on the side of the lot, to wait my turn on the air hose.

A tiny compact with a dented passenger side was parked at the exit, with a white SUV behind it. I guess it was a dad and daughter, maybe. The gal sat in the compact, and the dad got out of the SUV to put air in its tires. THEN he put air in the SUV's tires. Okay. Good. They were done. My turn next. They were parked all cattywompus, with the rear bumper of the SUV abutting the line of the parking space in front of the air hose. He would have been blocked in if I'd parked there to wait my turn. As soon as they left, I was going to move three spaces down, to park there for my air.

WAIT A MINUTE! What's this? The daughter got out of the compact, and leaned on the dented side. The dad said something to her, and started WALKING ACROSS THE LOT TO THE STORE! That's dirty pool! Two cars blocking the air hose!

OH, NO! To make matters worse, a white two-door sedan pulled into the space next to the air hose space. A dude got out and started talking to the daughter! Small world, huh? You run into an old friend at the air hose, chat a while, THEN pick up the air hose to put air in your tire. Meanwhile, no sign of the dad. I was watching in my mirrors. Maybe he was ordering a pizza for the Super Bowl. Maybe he was taking a dump.

A gray SUV pulled in on T-Hoe's right side, one space over. What were THEY doing? A gal at the wheel, and a guy in the passenger seat. They both got out and lit up cigarettes. Okay. Just taking a smoke break. Still no sign of the air-hogging dad in my mirrors. The white-sedan friend hung up the air hose and backed his car out. I started T-Hoe. The air hose might reach if I parked one space over from the blocker dad's SUV.

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN? That gray SUV lady had hopped back in her car, and the guy smoking was WALKING across in front of T-Hoe, towards the air hose! They were usurping my turn! She parked in the next space over, and got out to supervise the smoker while he put air in all four tires.

Well, well, well. Here came the blocker dad out of the store, carrying only a bottle of soda. Seriously, dude? How could that take so long? He got in his car, the daughter got in her compact, and they finally left. I had T-Hoe running. I whipped over into that parking space directly in front of the air hose, and cracked open the door. As soon as the gray SUV smokers returned that air hose, I was out and hobbling to snag it. You have to step up on a curb here, and take a couple steps to get it off a lamp post.

Good thing, too! A lady had parked on the exit curb that the dented compact had just vacated. She was an arm's length away when I grabbed the air hose.

"Whew! I've been waiting 15 minutes to use this air hose!"

"Would you happen to have an air pressure gauge?"

"Nope. Sure don't. My dashboard says I need 8-10 pounds, though."

I bent over, exposing her to my ample rumpus. Sorry about that. I was not going to be coy and try to bend over sideways, parallel to T-Hoe's flank. Of course I had stopped with the valve almost on the bottom of the tire. No time to back up and position it better. Time was of the essence in getting a turn for free air at this place!

I really hope the Gas Station Chicken Store got their air compressor fixed. Surely they have the money, what with people paying them $1 for FREE AIR.

When I stopped by for my 44 oz Diet Coke, there was a guy holding that air hose into the trunk of his car. As I drove by, I saw that he was trying to fill an air tank. THAT'S why we can't have FREE AIR!