I get a lot of flat tires. This is never my fault because I am a very cautious and defensive driver. I use my turn signals when changing lanes, keep my hands at two and ten o'clock, try to share the road with bicycles and pedestrians, and rarely text while driving.
Despite all this, I seem to run over many screws and nails. Which is how I end up at Don's Tires on Gilman more often than I would like to.
So here I am once again--disheveled, un-showered, without breakfast--pulling up to Don's Tires hoping to beat the other unfortunate people who have flat tires. It is far too early for my liking despite that I live less than 8 blocks away.
Don's Tires opens for business at 8:00am, thus I arrive five minutes early, and despite this feat, their red roll up doors were already open and mechanics are busily working and there is every other sign that Don's Tires is open for business. Am I too late?
"No, we open at 8," the cheerful woman who runs the front counter informs me. It is doubtful that she is related to Don (I've never asked), but if one thing is certain, it is of her unwavering allegiance to the San Francisco 49ers.
One time, when I was driving to work, and I was stuck at that stupid light at 6th and Gilman, I saw Don out front of Don's Tires supervising the installation of his "50 years in business" sign, which made me feel good (momentarily), so I took a photo with my camera phone.
In any case, running over a screw and getting a flat tire is usually unplanned, I did not have an appointment, but the nice lady who runs the place fit me into their schedule and told my car would be ready an hour later. After nearly being run over by a U-Haul truck while crossing the street, and stepping over a sleeping hobo, I walked into Jimmy Beans and ordered a side of home fries, a cup of water and that is all thank you. Jimmy Beans gets a lot of business from the people waiting for their flat tires to be fixed.
But I didn't want to spend an hour at Jimmy Beans so I walked up the street a few blocks to the new Whole Foods Marketplace in the Gilman District. I hate that place so much that I am beginning to think I only go there to fuel my antisocial and apparently sadomasochistic tendencies.
Whole Foods Marketplace in the Gilman District has a whole part of the store which is the "Allegro Coffee Roasting Company" and I decided to order a single low-fat latte in a large cup. I hadn't even signed my name with my finger of the iPad payment system when my phone rang again. Thankfully it wasn't a blocked call or a random 1-800 number (I really need to sign up for that do not call list website) but instead it was that nice lady from Don's Tires telling me that my car was ready--a whole fifteen minutes earlier than they had promised me! I hate to say it, but their timing turned out to be quite inconvenient, so I had to cancel my latte order and walk back down the street.
It's really great that they finished the job early, but I must wonder why they can't let me know how long it is actually going to take? It would make things a whole lot easier for their customers.
After a hurried walk down Gilman, I had worked up a good sweat and had a musky odor to match, but the unfresh waiting area of Don's Tires did little to help this. One time while I was waiting for my flat tire to be fixed, I saw a guy looking at pornography on his computer in the waiting area!
$375 was deducted from my bank account, and in return I was given the key to my car along with the promise of two brand new tires affixed to my vehicle. They did the work so quickly I briefly wondered if I was being told the truth.
The tires did seem new, and they were not flat. So there I was, about to get back into my car and drive to work, but when I opened the door, the interior smelled like a brewery! It certainly did not smell that way when I dropped it off.
I was shocked to find that a reusable bag containing empty beer bottles in the trunk (which I was planning to recycle) had been carelessly knocked over, and the last of their contents sloshed around the cargo area of my Honda CRV. It was as if I was visiting an Isla Vista frat house, but without the vomit, passed out sorority girls, plastic keg cups, or a sombrero.
I spent the next eight to ten minutes wiping up spilled suds, and no one even offered to help me! Eventually this unplanned, wet mess was dried up, but the sour smell of stale Sierra Nevada Pale Ale lingered for several days.
After this experience, I will never go to Don's Tires on Gilman again. Until I get another flat tire.
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