![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Adventures In Commuting
Sep. 18th, 2011 09:42 pmSo part of being a traveling vet is, well, traveling. Most of the time this means commuting around the Boston area, maybe 30-45 miles away from my home, maximum. But there are a few hospitals that I'll make exceptions for, because they're awesome or the staff are extra-fun or they ask for me specifically and I'm a sucker for that kind of flattery. One of these hospitals (which meets all three criteria) is in Belchertown.
Where is Belchertown, you ask? (Also, quick poll - worst/weirdest city name to have on your return address - Belchertown, or Cheesequake?) About 88 miles and two hours southwest of my house. Which makes it both the longest commute I'm willing to take on and a really lousy place to wind up stranded with a flat tire.
Which, of course, means that's exactly what happened when I worked there last week. About halfway through my shift a client pointed out that the little Saturn in the parking lot had a serious flat on one of its rear tires. And of course, this served to remind me that our AAA membership had lapsed. And that I really need to learn how to change a tire.
Luckily, it was a slow day, and luckily, as I mentioned, the staff at this hospital is amazing. And, in addition to being a master cat-wrangler and front desk manager, the main employee I was working with was apparently a jack-of-all-trades who carries a tire repair kit in her trunk. After we finished morning appointments, she managed to jack up my car and find the problem (a finishing nail as long as my pinky, embedded to the hilt).... just in time for it to start to pour.
Luckily, afternoon appointments were nearly nonexistent, and after a couple of hours the rain let up. And between the two of us we got the nail pried out. And then she began an hour-and-a-half ordeal of attempting to patch the enormous hole it left behind. Unfortunately, air is obnoxious in its ability to sneak through tiny molecule-sized holes, and as it got colder and darker and wetter, we eventually realized that no amount of sticky gunk was going to block that hole, at least not working from the limited angle we had to apply it. I called around to the local repair shop that the client who had originally noted the problem had recommended; they were closed. I asked them if they could recommend anyone else; apparently Belchertown rolls up their sidewalks at 4:45pm.
At this point I started to have visions of sleeping in my car in the hospital parking lot. I called my husband and our incipient houseguest to inform them both that I would be, at best, running heinously late, and the tech and I began trying to remove my tire, in the hopes that I could drive the two hours home on a donut without dying or having anything explode.
That would be when we realized that my lugnuts had kind of rusted in place. There was kicking, and cursing, and yanking, and two skinny little chicks shoving on a lug wrench with little to no effect. That was when we decided to just spray the damn things with kennel cleanser and call the tech's boyfriend, who, as luck would have it, was a mechanic. He gave her some advice I didn't hear, and we went outside to find a crowbar and call my husband with an update.
Amazingly, apparently kennel cleanser will dissolve anything. Either that, or lugnuts can be intimidated into cooperation, because before I could finish the phone call and start searching in earnest, the tire was off. We got the spare on, went back inside to warm up and call Tech's Boyfriend... only to find out that he had decided to drive the 40 minutes from their home to the office to make sure we were okay and to meet me.
I was already about an hour and a half behind at this point, so I figured that it was worth sticking around an extra 20 minutes for someone official to sign off on my car. Which is exactly what happened, and for which I will be eternally grateful. Some guy I had never met before drove for the better part of an hour to tighten the lugnuts on my spare tire - and then proceeded to fix the patch on the original tire, check the pressure on the rest, and fill them up when they were low.
Sometimes it's easy to forget, but there are some truly awesome people in the world.
Blessedly, my little donut tire made it the entire way home without event, and my angel of a husband managed to get things replaced and balanced and fixed, and I now have a functional car again (other than a little rattle that is probably due to something getting pinched or knocked off kilter in the process of the kicking and cursing). And I'm hoping beyond hope that my next trip back there next week is much less evenful....
Where is Belchertown, you ask? (Also, quick poll - worst/weirdest city name to have on your return address - Belchertown, or Cheesequake?) About 88 miles and two hours southwest of my house. Which makes it both the longest commute I'm willing to take on and a really lousy place to wind up stranded with a flat tire.
Which, of course, means that's exactly what happened when I worked there last week. About halfway through my shift a client pointed out that the little Saturn in the parking lot had a serious flat on one of its rear tires. And of course, this served to remind me that our AAA membership had lapsed. And that I really need to learn how to change a tire.
Luckily, it was a slow day, and luckily, as I mentioned, the staff at this hospital is amazing. And, in addition to being a master cat-wrangler and front desk manager, the main employee I was working with was apparently a jack-of-all-trades who carries a tire repair kit in her trunk. After we finished morning appointments, she managed to jack up my car and find the problem (a finishing nail as long as my pinky, embedded to the hilt).... just in time for it to start to pour.
Luckily, afternoon appointments were nearly nonexistent, and after a couple of hours the rain let up. And between the two of us we got the nail pried out. And then she began an hour-and-a-half ordeal of attempting to patch the enormous hole it left behind. Unfortunately, air is obnoxious in its ability to sneak through tiny molecule-sized holes, and as it got colder and darker and wetter, we eventually realized that no amount of sticky gunk was going to block that hole, at least not working from the limited angle we had to apply it. I called around to the local repair shop that the client who had originally noted the problem had recommended; they were closed. I asked them if they could recommend anyone else; apparently Belchertown rolls up their sidewalks at 4:45pm.
At this point I started to have visions of sleeping in my car in the hospital parking lot. I called my husband and our incipient houseguest to inform them both that I would be, at best, running heinously late, and the tech and I began trying to remove my tire, in the hopes that I could drive the two hours home on a donut without dying or having anything explode.
That would be when we realized that my lugnuts had kind of rusted in place. There was kicking, and cursing, and yanking, and two skinny little chicks shoving on a lug wrench with little to no effect. That was when we decided to just spray the damn things with kennel cleanser and call the tech's boyfriend, who, as luck would have it, was a mechanic. He gave her some advice I didn't hear, and we went outside to find a crowbar and call my husband with an update.
Amazingly, apparently kennel cleanser will dissolve anything. Either that, or lugnuts can be intimidated into cooperation, because before I could finish the phone call and start searching in earnest, the tire was off. We got the spare on, went back inside to warm up and call Tech's Boyfriend... only to find out that he had decided to drive the 40 minutes from their home to the office to make sure we were okay and to meet me.
I was already about an hour and a half behind at this point, so I figured that it was worth sticking around an extra 20 minutes for someone official to sign off on my car. Which is exactly what happened, and for which I will be eternally grateful. Some guy I had never met before drove for the better part of an hour to tighten the lugnuts on my spare tire - and then proceeded to fix the patch on the original tire, check the pressure on the rest, and fill them up when they were low.
Sometimes it's easy to forget, but there are some truly awesome people in the world.
Blessedly, my little donut tire made it the entire way home without event, and my angel of a husband managed to get things replaced and balanced and fixed, and I now have a functional car again (other than a little rattle that is probably due to something getting pinched or knocked off kilter in the process of the kicking and cursing). And I'm hoping beyond hope that my next trip back there next week is much less evenful....
