So the every faithful "Bluesmobile" needs two new tires. While the front tires still have a decent amount of tread, they are starting to crack and split and since I had a free afternoon today, thought that I, like Elvis, would spend it "Taking care of business."
So I head to Wally World, make my way into the automotive section and speak to the person behind the counter, telling them what I need. She types it into the computer and comes up with 205/70/14.
"That's fine, slap 'em on," I say in a breezy happy manner sure that I will spend the next hour touring Wally World and checking out the falling prices.
"We don't have any in stock," she says. "We can order some but it will take a few days for them to get here."
"Not a problem," say I. Do you have any other 14 inch tires in stock.
She types and her screen reveals all kinds of 14 inch tires, including some 205/75/14's and 195/75/14's.
I see this and say, "just put on a set of the 205/75/14's."
"We can't do that," she says.
"Why not?" I inquire.
"Because according to the computer, that would be the wrong tire for the car."
"It'll work," say I, "it's no big deal."
But apparently, in the world of Walmart Automotives, it is a big deal. The world will end, planets will collide, the entire human population of the planet will suddenly swap gender roles and Adolf Hitler will finally re-emerge from his island hide away where he and Walt Disney have passed their time playing "go fish" while in suspended animation.
Finally, I realize that no amount of discussion will move this individual to give the go ahead to mount said tires, so I ask, "can I simply buy the tires and carry them out?"
She smiles and says, "you sure can," and then barks an order to a nearby associate, "go pull two off the rack."
Off he goes and in short time returns with two tires, one in each hand. He kinda nods in my direction in a "come hither" way. I go hither and in hushed tones tells me, "look buddy, you throw these in your trunk, drive behind the garden center, take the wheel off, roll it over here and I'll mount it for you. When we're done with that one, do the other side and I'll mount that one as well."
"Okay," says I.
"OH NO YOU WON"T!!!!" Shouts the fematirenazi at the computer. "I HEARD EVERY THING YOU WERE SAYING AND IF YOU WANT TO KEEP YOUR JOB YOU WILL NOT DO THAT!!!!!"
This bothers me. I don't like to loose my temper or raise my voice, but I felt myself starting to boil, and then I boil over and angry words fly out of my mouth like the hind end of a cow who has eaten too much green grass, (yes, it was nasty).
Among the things I can print was the fact that she was quite willing to sell me two tires that I will now take home and hammer on with a sledge hammer and balance with a carpenters level. How in the wide world of all things holy is this suppose to be safer than them doing it in their shop with all the proper tools.
She has no reply.
She rings up my purchase and in the process charges me a tire disposal fee. I point that out. I said, "You're charging me to get rid of the old tires when you're not even removing the old tires."
"The State of Florida requires us to do so."
Another argument. Even her co-workers agree with me, but she will not budge. So it's either pay for the disposal fee or leave without the tires. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
I pay the disposal fee and feeling like I had just visited a "Gentlemen's Club" only to discover the main dancer was named "Herman" who pole danced in a pink leotard.
I walk outside carrying two tires.
It starts to rain.
I feel sad.
So I head to Wally World, make my way into the automotive section and speak to the person behind the counter, telling them what I need. She types it into the computer and comes up with 205/70/14.
"That's fine, slap 'em on," I say in a breezy happy manner sure that I will spend the next hour touring Wally World and checking out the falling prices.
"We don't have any in stock," she says. "We can order some but it will take a few days for them to get here."
"Not a problem," say I. Do you have any other 14 inch tires in stock.
She types and her screen reveals all kinds of 14 inch tires, including some 205/75/14's and 195/75/14's.
I see this and say, "just put on a set of the 205/75/14's."
"We can't do that," she says.
"Why not?" I inquire.
"Because according to the computer, that would be the wrong tire for the car."
"It'll work," say I, "it's no big deal."
But apparently, in the world of Walmart Automotives, it is a big deal. The world will end, planets will collide, the entire human population of the planet will suddenly swap gender roles and Adolf Hitler will finally re-emerge from his island hide away where he and Walt Disney have passed their time playing "go fish" while in suspended animation.
Finally, I realize that no amount of discussion will move this individual to give the go ahead to mount said tires, so I ask, "can I simply buy the tires and carry them out?"
She smiles and says, "you sure can," and then barks an order to a nearby associate, "go pull two off the rack."
Off he goes and in short time returns with two tires, one in each hand. He kinda nods in my direction in a "come hither" way. I go hither and in hushed tones tells me, "look buddy, you throw these in your trunk, drive behind the garden center, take the wheel off, roll it over here and I'll mount it for you. When we're done with that one, do the other side and I'll mount that one as well."
"Okay," says I.
"OH NO YOU WON"T!!!!" Shouts the fematirenazi at the computer. "I HEARD EVERY THING YOU WERE SAYING AND IF YOU WANT TO KEEP YOUR JOB YOU WILL NOT DO THAT!!!!!"
This bothers me. I don't like to loose my temper or raise my voice, but I felt myself starting to boil, and then I boil over and angry words fly out of my mouth like the hind end of a cow who has eaten too much green grass, (yes, it was nasty).
Among the things I can print was the fact that she was quite willing to sell me two tires that I will now take home and hammer on with a sledge hammer and balance with a carpenters level. How in the wide world of all things holy is this suppose to be safer than them doing it in their shop with all the proper tools.
She has no reply.
She rings up my purchase and in the process charges me a tire disposal fee. I point that out. I said, "You're charging me to get rid of the old tires when you're not even removing the old tires."
"The State of Florida requires us to do so."
Another argument. Even her co-workers agree with me, but she will not budge. So it's either pay for the disposal fee or leave without the tires. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
I pay the disposal fee and feeling like I had just visited a "Gentlemen's Club" only to discover the main dancer was named "Herman" who pole danced in a pink leotard.
I walk outside carrying two tires.
It starts to rain.
I feel sad.
