So I love our feed mill. They're like fifth generation, family owned and operated, and their feed is the best I can find anywhere. I always haul feed in my van with the back seats out, because I would rather stab myself with a fork than back up a trailer. This leads to some "that's a funny looking truck, wink!" commentary but it certainly isn't the strangest thing they've loaded feed into.
So today they were loading me up with feed, and I notice that one of my front tires is obviously short on air. Yipes. I have an emergency pump, but that thing takes about three years to work. No worries, says toothless feed store guy (I don't know any of their names work with me here). You can use our air pump.
The other one looks a bit low too, says current manager. Best top it up first. So we do that. Then we try to do the other side.
AND IT EXPLODED.
Like kaboom and gravel flew everywhere it didn't just blow out it blew up. And we all just stare at it for a second.
"Do you have a spare, darlin'?"
I realize that calling people darling or sweetie or whatever is kind of a southern thing, but I really hate it. Makes me want to punch the dang guy in the mouth. But the speed with which a swarm of feed mill dudes descended upon my car, pulled all the feed out, got the spare out from under the car, found a better jack, jacked up my car, and switched that tire out makes me very glad that I never have. I surely could have done that myself, but it would have taken me at least an hour longer, and I would have been metaphorically dead afterwards. As it was I still had enough energy to get the feed back out of the van and put up so we can take it to its appointment at the tire place tomorrow.
So support your local feed mill, darlings. And if you're local to me, go to Big Spring Mill in Elliston. They will save your bacon when your car explodes.