Flat Tire, Frigid Society.

I planned to do my laundry today, but there have been some unexpected events that may have otherwise soured my day.

As I was driving towards the laundromat, I noticed a weird sound coming from the bottom of my car. At first, I thought it was some snow packed onto my tires or that the road was full of gravel. Another thought that crossed my mind was that I ran over a hapless animal and was dragging it -- a crimson stream of blood and entrails painted over Green Street.

After I drove into the parking lot of the laundromat, I didn't see any dead squirrel carcass hanging from the bottom of my car. It was much worse. I had a flat tire.

I've seen tires get changed before, so I figured this would be an easy task to accomplish. It was also a way to demonstrate my manliness which, believe me, is waning ever since I baked erotic cupcakes for Christina's birthday (ever since then, I have been referred to as her almost token gay friend).

As luck would have it, I had everything but the tire iron to loosen the lug nuts; so I was stuck there, and the friends I called were either still asleep or did not have a tire iron. Ultimately, I called the AARP road assistance to come with a tire iron.

Of course, my initial goal for the day was to do my laundry. As I was waiting for AARP to come (which they said would take about 15 minutes), I had imagined I'd do my laundry. However, my dreams of finally having clean underwear after one month of having no wearable boxers were diminished once I realized that the laundry detergent I had kept in my car was, in fact, frozen. The irony, people.

I waited outside my car for about two hours -- my spare tire resting above my bumper and a jack and a hubcap by my side -- watching people give me curious looks. Not a single one bothered to help or even ask me what's wrong. People coldly came in, washed their clothes, and left without a word. Most of them appeared to be gelled-hair assholes, stuck-up daddy's girls, and suburban-trash -- which really doesn't put an end to their respective stereotypes.

As my faith in humanity dwindled, a kind guy who much resembled a bear or a shorter version of Zangief offered some help. Even though his wrench didn't fit my larger-than-life lug nuts, I was touched that someone in this busy, self-centered world was charitable enough to offer assistance. I offered my thanks and reassurance that AARP will come, and he left with genuine concern in his fuzzy face.

While I was waiting for AARP to come, I did manage to cut my nails, write an entire dialogue for a comic, defrost my laundry detergent with my car's heater, and listen to a lot of Belle & Sebastian. However, fed up with waiting for AARP, I called my friend Todd for help. With his moustache and sweatpants, he resembled the kind of uncle who'd come over on a Sunday morning and watch football. We replaced the tire, and the world was at peace.

AARP eventually called an hour later with an automated recording (three hours after initially calling them, mind you), asking if I received the help I needed. I hung up, all the while cursing them and the construction guy who had parked his van (undoubtedly full of wrenches) next to me, did his laundry, saw me, and left.

Thank you, Todd. I owe you a dinner. And thank you, Zangief. You have restored my faith in humanity.