The Search Is Over

Yesterday, I solved a riddle that I know has been punishing many of you night and day for the last couple months. It hit me somewhere between 1 and 1:45 pm. And since its solution, my head traffic has been much less chaotic.

I discovered, without question, the most frustrating sequence of events that could possibly befall a human being in the winter months. My rear driver-side tire was low on air.

I've long since cleared the annoyance of having to pay for air; 50-75 cents is the norm these days (Some BPs still have it for free). No biggie. I've got quarters to blow, and a tire that's about to. And luckily, there's a convenient Super America (whose air I've utilized before) located right next to my work. So, at 1 o'clock, I slid on over to take care of business and enjoy the rest of my hour-long break. Not so fast, said the air compressor gods, of which I am now convinced there are many, all conspiring against me. I plugged in my last three quarters, and the machine buzzed. But to my horror, there was no tip on the extendable cable. I then noticed the "out of order" sign on the machine. I'm reminded why yellow highlighters were never popular choices for important note-writing.

No matter.

There are plenty of gas stations nearby, and I have one lonely dollar in my wallet that I can change. If blackjack dealers can "change $100, I can change 1. It's a verb, and as far as this rant goes, I'll anoint it whatever type of speech I please. Next stop: a Sinclair station a couple blocks down. What's this? No air? Still unfazed, I glide past another Sinclair, slowing enough to recognize the lack of a compressor at this station as well. I still have a good 50 minutes left of my break, I think, and I'm only a mile or so away from the break room and its couches. Another Super America awaits. Yet, like its predecessor, the air machine is broken. I share a moment of commiseration with a biker who undoubtedly is more desperate for air than I. It's 12 degrees below 0. That's a tough bike ride with a flat.

I know there's a BP nearby, so I point my Cirrus in its direction, seeking a free end to my search. Alas, the gods conspire again, and offer another air-less station for my convenience. Another dead-end Sinclair station later and I'm on to stop number 7 in minute number 25. And this one finally has a working air machine. Good thing too, because I can still squeeze in a short nap to close my break.

At only 50 cents, this was a deal. I parked in back, and walked around to the front entrance to enter the store and change my buck. I launch myself into the door, which refuses to budge. I try again. Nothing. I try to pull the other door. That's when I noticed. "Back in 10 minutes," the sign says, puzzling the half-dozen customers that had gathered at this centrally-located gas station. (On University Ave in St. Paul for those who know what that means. I know, it's crazy.) It's worth the wait for me, and I fill up with gas in the meantime. The clerk finally arrives, and I wonder why I've just contributed $25 to a gas station that leaves its customers loitering in below-zero weather. I'm in it to win it, though, and the prize is a pumped-up tire only four quarters change away.

He wouldn't change my dollar. "Sorry, we need the quarters," he says. I'm too tired to argue at this point, so I snatch a nasty cheese crackers and peanut butter treat that costs 30 cents. I'm worried I won't get the two quarters change I need, but sure enough, he slides them through the glass divider. A minute later, my tire was full, and my break was coming to a close. 50 minutes and seven gas stations to pump one semi-flat tire back to life.

You tell me a more frustrating sequence that doesn't involve an over-the-phone customer service conversation. So today, I decided to take note of every annoying, frustrating moment of my day, and stand it up against the air search. I've invented the Frustrameter, a ten-point scale (with decimals) to measure the amount of frustration. Yesterday's incident is a 10. Here's my day so far.

.3 Tried the wrong key in apartment door
1.4 Someone stole my exercise machine at the Rec
2.0 Bus in my turn lane
4.1 Peeled an orange; residue stuck under fingernail all day
4.8 While un-crustifying old glue bottle spouts, a chunk of old glue lodges under my fingernail
5.6 Bathroom stench lingers
6.3 Car parked over sidewalk forces off-road walk
7.5 Alarm goes off at 5:45 am
7.9 Cannot convey to four-year-old what "Stay on your cot!" means
8.2 Bottom of pants get wet from snow, remain wet and cold once inside and shoeless
8.8 Have to do laundry
8.9 Fold yesterday's laundry, some of which is still wet
9.0 Have to re-wash pants (washed yesterday) after unfortunate paint and glue explosions
9.1 Forget detergent on first trip down to laundry room
9.2 Detergent leaks on hand
9.6 Freshly-wiped rear window covered by roof snow as soon as car hits the road


Man, this life thing is frustrating.