Here’s a deflating topic, flat tires. Until recently, however, they’ve been not-so-bad experiences, with helping hands offering aid. But diminishing good neighborliness and personal safety concerns made for a bad experience
Here’s a few not-so-bad blow outs:
• In 1995 I had a blow out in Hobbs. Within seconds, red lights flashed and an extremely good-looking policeman fixed it.
• When I worked for the Muleshoe Journal in the 1990s, myself and a co-worker, Nell, commuted from Portales. I usually left last, but I left early one day and then boom! This was before mass cell phones. Within minutes, Nell came along and gave me a ride.
• In high school, we cruised in dad’s green van and Joe Madrid, always showed up out of nowhere when we had flats, reminding us we were his primas.
However, when driving back from Lubbock recently, dad’s truck had a blowout. He had a spare but my sister hadn’t returned the special jack he uses. We called my other sister to bring it, but figured someone would help before she arrived. One man stopped. Wrong jack. After that, no one.
Remember when diesels stopped for everyone? As for pickups, dad noted most were being driven by women. As a petite woman myself — it’s sad but true — I’m scared to stop.