I get really annoyed when I can’t do something by myself. I don’t mean that I insist on doing every single thing alone and without assistance. That would be silly.
But, for example, when the air in my tire was perilously low yesterday, I started flipping out because one of the things I have never been able to do is change a tire.
Mind you, I had practical, hands-on tire-changing lessons in driver’s education (after I caused the tire to blow from driving over a curb), from my dad, from various boyfriends and male roommates over the years. But I can’t do it, and I don’t know if it’s because I have tiny hands, or the wrong kind of upper-body strength, or some kind of mental block. In addition, I suck at using the tire gauge, but that’s just inexperience.
I also can’t push cards into hardware boards. I think that’s because I’m scared I’ll break them. It is so embarrassing to have to find someone to do the manual labor on this, but as people have pointed out, it’s less embarrassing than not knowing what to do with a board and making the people at Comp USA install it for you.
I’m short, so it’s very difficult for me to deal with hanging curtains, changing lightbulbs that are in tricky places, etc. I don’t have any tall ladders in the house, either, and I know I should buy one but I haven’t had a lot of extra cash for that lately. (Before I buy a tall ladder I am paying to have the damn dishwasher fixed. If anyone knows a good dishwasher repair person/company in central Austin, email me privately.)
Worst of all, though, is the attic. I have never been in my own attic, and this has nothing to do with a lack of ladders or upper-body strength or anything like that. The attic scares me.
First of all, the opening to the attic doesn’t have a door on it. It’s in the garage and it’s this gaping hole and any bug or rodent that was so inclined could just stroll up there, curl up in a corner, and spring out at me if I ever poked my face into the attic. The cable modem guy, the house inspector, etc. who have all been in the attic have not been attacked by rodents but you know it would happen to me. If you’ve read my journal long enough, you know about The Great Raccoon Invasion of 2000 that made my life pure miserable hell.
I ought to get my dad to make a little attic door, but I have the feeling that in the next month or so, my parents aren’t going to be in the mood to do me any great favors. We shall see. I suppose I could make one myself, even, if I could get someone else (taller) to install it.
I get very cranky with myself. I am supposed to be this Independent Woman and I won’t even go into my own attic? Well, in my defense, I really don’t have a sufficiently tall ladder, but still. Also, tall ladders scare me. I’ve heard one too many stories about people falling off them and having to spend a month in bed with back injuries, and so on. I am not an agile person. I do not belong on very tall ladders.
Fortunately, there was enough air in the tire this morning for me to drive it to the tire place and have them discover whether it was just low on air (and I was a feeble flaky female) or if something was actually wrong. I did not have to change a tire or mess with a tire gauge. Turned out there was a nail in the tire, which they patched, and I left the tire place feeling a lot less stupid than I did yesterday.
I don’t want to be one of those stereotypical females who’s scared of rodents and heights and who has no upper body strength. I’ll just have to take comfort in the fact that there are men who feel the same way, it’s a universal weakness and perfectly acceptable. Yeah. Mmm-hmm. And I can bribe my boyfriend to go in the attic, and put up with his laughing at me when I have to ask him to push my sound card into the motherboard slot.
I have this theory that taller men (or women) were created expressly to do our bidding.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Advice for opening the attic: open the door with a stick, then wave that stick around in the opening for a while. Any jumping rodents will be well scared off, and it’ll be safe to stick your head through. (Well, that’s what I’d do, anyhow. Doing what I’d do isn’t always the best of ideas, however.)
I’ve always had good luck with Appliance Associates on Romeria, around the side of Cook-Walden Funeral Home on North Lamar, near DPS. They’ve fixed my stoves and sold me dishwashers (new) and dryers (reconditioned), and they’ll probably be the ones I go back to when the refrigerator finally dies. Don’t be put off by the Jesus fish on their sign; they’ve never offered to witness or proselyte or anything of the sort when I’ve been in.
The Independent Woman gets things done. Nowhere does it say she does all of them by herself.
–M.A.
The secret to changing a tire successfully is a monster-ass tire iron. The ones that come with your car just don’t give you enough torque to crack those nuts off of there. Go to your local auto parts shop and get the biggest tire iron you can find. The one shaped like a plus that they sell to truck drivers and is bigger than your entire tire works well. Yes, I know this from experience!