The Michelin Man

I’m getting ready for a road trip at the same time as a move across country. Yes, I know they’re pretty much the same thing, but at the same time, they aren’t. See, the first part of the trip is the long-planned, finally happening trip to Walt Disney World down in Florida. When I knew I was going to Iraq, I promised myself I’d go see the giant mouse when I got back, as my own personal reward for a job well done. I doubt Mickey is going to recognize me, though, as I haven’t seen him in over fifteen years.

So there’s packing for a family vacation, which is awesome, and at the same time, complicated all to hell. Because I couldn’t leave well enough alone and separate the drive to Victory Junction from the drive to Florida – No, no, I had to be a dumb ass and combine the two. In my defense though, it seemed like a good idea at the time to eliminate a few thousand miles from the driving I’d be doing. And really, I love my family, but sharing a house with them all for a week is more than enough that I don’t feel guilty at all about avoiding the road trip.

But I digress. I’m packing for vacay. And I’m packing to move. All at the same time. Confusing, eh? A week in balmy Orlando requires completely different clothing than a winter in hopping Randleman. I’ll figure it out sooner or later, I’m sure but the key word is “layering.” I’m going to layer so much I’ll look like the Michelin man, I’m sure.

Which brings me back to what I started to write about tonight. The jeep and I went out to get inspected today. Well, really, the jeep needed inspected, not me, but it’s underaged and not allowed to drive alone, so I went with it. We were at the first Mr. Sticker, but they had some sort of computer malfunction, so we regrouped and went to Discount Tire to get the tires rotated and balanced. It seems no one thought about that while I was in Iraq. I’m not complaining, just pointing out that it’s not high on anyone’s to do list when they are out of the country.

So I cruise on into the store and a really nice clerk takes my paperwork and keys after I tell him what service I need. He smiles, says it will be about 30 minutes and walks outside to get the jeep. Then he walks back into the store and says, “there’s nothing to balance.”

Say what?

Several hundred dollars later, I had four new tires on the jeep. And let me tell you, if that little jeep says I never buy her anything, she’s a liar. She got new antifreeze last week, along with windshield wipers. Brakes, oil, a belt and a thorough lube job, too. (Why does that always sound dirty?) Next year she’ll probably get a new top, and there’s a paint job in her future, too, unfortunately. That’s a spoiled rotten little jeep, I tell you.

But on the plus side, she’s pretty good to me. Even when she didn’t feel good, she still cranked up and carried me around without too much fussing. She did tell me in no uncertain terms though, that I am never allowed to buy her BF Goodrich tires again as they just ride like crap, don’t feel good on her rims, and in general, wear out about 10,000 miles before they are supposed to. She’s rather picky, my jeep.