Free Air

My brother Tim describes me as: "The only guy I know who can have a deep philosophical discussion with you and then go to set his cup down and drop it because there's no table there."

My mother always tells me: "It's great that you don't care that much about material possessions, but you have got to be a better steward of things."

With that in mind... the tires on my car were low. They needed air. (Are you cringing yet Mom?) I have been looking around casually for a place that gives free air because I'm too cheap to spend fifty cents on it. The tires have been getting increasingly lower because I'm sure I have a slow leak in the front passenger tire. Everywhere I look though, it costs fifty cents to get air. I refuse to pay fifty cents for air, so I just kept driving around with the tires getting lower and lower. Today, as I was driving around, I passed by Sheetz. I saw a sign the other day advertising surcharge free ATMs at Sheetz and I thought to myself: "They are trying to get more people in the door with free ATMs, maybe they are offering free air as well."

So, I drove into Sheetz looking for free air. At first I didn't see the air compressor, and started snaking my way through the parking lot. Then, to my left I saw the air compressor with the words "FREE! FREE! FREE! FREE! FREE!" plastered across it. I thought to myself, "How strange that in this culture where we have so many things, a gas station is actually trying to gain customers by providing them with free air. Air! Something which should be free any-"

Then bang. I drove into the gas pump.

The woman outside was sweeping the parkinglot when I hit the red poles they put in front of the gas pumps. I stopped the car and saw bits and pieces of shattered things flying through the air. (I was only going about five miles an hour but *sheesh*) The lady who was sweeping now stopped everything. She looked up and watched me as I sighed, put the car in gear, and drove the last twenty feet to the air pump. I got out of the car, walked over, gathered my shattered turn signal and other broken bits of my car, and threw them away. Then I went back to my car to look at the damage. The passenger side wheel well was ripped up and the metal was folded in on itself. The bumper was hanging down and the plastic wheel well casing was pushed up against the tire. The whole mess was smeared in red paint with deep black gouges in the steel. I tried to open the passenger door, but the front panel was pushed too far toward the back of the car, and I couldn't open it. So, I yanked on the jagged metal pulling the panel back toward the front of the car and I opened the door. (I can't open it all the way, but it's enough for someone to get in.) Then I stood back, took another look at the twisted mangled front end of my car. The lady who was sweeping the parking lot was now standing fifteen feet away, holding her broom staring at the whole thing. She didn't laugh, she didn't turn away, she didn't pretend nothing was happening. She just stood there, mouth hanging open, staring like a little kid watching her first scary movie. Then, with nothing left to do, I shrugged my shoulders, filled my tires with air and drove to Second Cup.

My mother is going nuts right about now.