Changing a Tire

I just recently got flat tire. Not while driving, but after leaving my car at work for the day. The extremely, cold -19 degree celcius (not counting the wind chill) day. But, hey, I’m handy. I can change a tire. I’ll just go out and chnge it. So I pulled out the jack and the handy-dandy spare tire that hangs out in the trunk, awaiting its debut. It was icy cold, and the tire wouldn’t budge. One life-line phone call later, if your tire is stuck, that’s rust . You have to hit the rubber tire part with a hammer or heavy objecdt, and it will free up. And it did. Thanks, dad!I put on the spare tire and drove home thankful and content that this situation would be remedied in a few days. I didn’t drive my car until the day my father and I were going to meet up to exchange the car for the tire. Which cooincidentally was the only day a client could meet me. No problem. I’ve got the spare on – I’ll do the meeting, then get the new tire right afterwards.
The morning of the meet up, I finished my work meeting and hit the road to meet my father. It was then that I landed my little mini spare tire in the biggest pothole on the road and flattened it. My spare. The little rubber donut of a tire that was there in case I got a flat tire was now a flat tire.

I’m very far from my new tires, my work, my home. On yet another cold day. My father came out to meet me after he went to purchase the tire he was going to purchase in the afternoon.
With an hour or more to spare, sitting at the side of the road near the airport, there was nothing to do. I was too far from a parking lot, coffee shop or warm place. I’m living in my car for the afternoon.
The phone calls I’d been meaning to make – I made them. The things I meant to check up on – done.
My car is now much cleaner. I also discovered that had I truly been stranded, there was a few pieces of frozen-by-the-Canadian-winter bread under my seat.