4.26.11

Tonight's post isn't about balance at all. 


On my way home from doing one of my favorite teacher activities (working the track meet), I hit a pot hole.


This pot hole was the same one I heard described on the radio this morning, in the same spot the radio said it was--the same spot where, at 6:30 a.m., three people were pulled over changing flats. 


My heart racing, and panic settling in--because I'm a girl, I'll go ahead and pull that card--I pulled off the highway...into the ghetto. 


Where did I pull off exactly? 


A random drive that led to a vacant lot and had signs posted that said, "Area under surveillance. No firearms."


I asked the lone man I saw standing there (really, this is everything on the "Don't" list in the Book of Being a Girl. That "Girl Card" of mine should be revoked!) if he would help me change my flat tire. 


He said no. 


Really. 


I went back to my car, crying, because I didn't really know what else to do. I physically and mentally lacked the skills to help myself. It was a situation I couldn't talk, write, run, text, email, stretch or think my way out of. How often do you ever really feel completely...helpless?


Every man I know (and most of the women, too) are reading this going, "How have you never learned to change a tire?!?!" I'm sorry to report it's a skill I just never acquired. 


The man pulled up along side me and said, "I gotta be somewhere but," he turned and pointed at a building 50 feet away. "There's a fire station right there. They'll change it for you."


Salvation. Firemen. How did I miss that building and turn into the scary-empty-no-firearms lot? 


Tears in my eyes, embarrassment on my face, four very kind firemen took pity on me and did what firemen do.


They looked incredible as they helped the damsel in distress.


They were so kind, and even rearranged a few tires to make sure my front wheel drive wouldn't interfere with the spare, and other safety things that only firemen would think of. They were very good at not making me feel silly for lacking the skill to change a tire--and I appreciated that above all else.


And then they got a call. 


They were midway through my tire change, and they all looked at each other. And then they looked at me.


They led me to the lounge, handed me the remote control, poured me a cup of coffee, showed me where the brownies were, and said, "We'll be back eventually." 


And there I was. Alone in the firehouse. 


I called Greg, called a friend, and watched the news. I listened for the garage door. I babysat a very quiet firehouse.


Twenty minutes later they returned. They finished up my tire and sent me on my way. I'm sure as I pulled away in my Volvo, destination: East Side, they cracked some jokes about helpless me. 


I'm okay with it. 


The lesson learned here is that I shouldn't panic. In tough situations, there is always someone or something there to catch me. 


Maybe tonight's post is about balance after all.


In a few days, I'll be dropping a LaRosa's gift card in the mail, addressed to four firemen on the west side. I'll thank them for their brain and brawn, the cup of coffee. And for being just, well, kind.