Just a few months ago, I was walking with some friends out of a Mexican restaurant in my neighborhood. Suddenly, a white sedan drove by with a young man in the passenger seat. The passenger had his window down and was leaning out of the car. The young man yelled, “F**k you!” then threw something at us with much velocity. Fortunately, whatever he threw miraculously managed to sail in between all three of us, and the car continued down the road. Then I looked around and saw the tell-tale trail of goo along the sidewalk. He had thrown an egg.

I really need to move to a new neighborhood.

So, like I said, my troubles with tires were only just beginning…

As a result of the first tire incident, I had both my front tires replaced. This held me over for a few months until one bright afternoon, as I was driving to the pharmacy in Burbank, I heard the tell-tale thump thump thump of a flat. I pulled into the pharmacy parking lot and realized one of my back tires was now flat. Fortunately, it was the afternoon and I had plenty of space to operate, so I changed the tire myself. It took me a while to do so, but I would become much speedier at changing tires over the ensuing months.

As a result of the most recent flat, I bought two new back tires. But they didn’t last long. I had them about a year before the first one blew on my way home from Pasadena one night. It was dark and drizzling, and I had to change the tire on the side of the road with virtually no light. I soon bought yet another new tire, this time only a single one.

The next back tire blew a few months later on my way back from San Jose. I was hundreds of miles outside of North Hollywood, so I had to buy a new tire that day, less I drive all the way home on the risky doughnut. I had to wait over an hour for the tire to be replaced.

I thought my tire troubles were over, having literally replaced every tire at least once. Yet one day not too long ago, my boss came up to me at work and broke the news.

“Mike,” she said, “I just got back from lunch, and when I pulled into my parking spot, I noticed that your front tire looks low.”

It was low, sure enough, and had a giant silver nail in it to boot. Of course I assumed the nail hole could be plugged for a nominal sum, but, alas, that was not to be. Turns out the tire was damaged beyond repair, and yet again, I had to buy a new tire for my car.

So it goes.