Anyway, so tonight I went to Bikram with my "Lily Pod" friend from journalism, Emelia, for the first time. She drove us.
It was a great class! We had a cute, surfer-esque instructor who pushed me harder than ever and I was able to do positions I hadn't previously been able to do and reach further into others I already enjoy. Needless to say, I was on top of the world when I left the 102 degree room! Endorphins pumping and a high from passing into deeper meditation, I was glowing, sweaty and god-darn peachy.
Then life jumped on in with a lovely little test for Emelia and I. A challenge as I'd like to see it. We notice that the underground parkade gate is closed so we must take the elevator downstairs to get to the car. Ok, fine.
We head down, hop in the car, Emelia puts on one of her favourite songs and throws the car in reverse. Except, something is wrong. Having much experience with flat tires and broken down vehicles thanks to my family and childhood, I immediately identify it as a flat and jump out to check. AFFIRMITIVE. (as brett and jermaine would say.)
Not just out of air, but so damn flat that the hub cap has popped off and we aren't going anywhere until a new one is on.
Thankfully, she has a spare and wrenches in her trunk, but no jack mind you. Yes, another sweet challenge. How the hell are two teenage girls going to get this flat off and this new tire on. First thing that goes through my mind, thanks to plethora of horror moves that have 2 teenage girls essentially locked in a deserted underground parkade with no functioning vehicle, you know where my mind went. I get a grip and recognize my irrationality and dart upstairs, bursting into the yoga studio asking, "does anyone have a jack!?!?! My friend and I are in a bit of an unfortunate situation!"
This is when I first meet Tom.
Tom is a middle aged fella who happens to have a jack in his car. I mentioned that neither of us know how to change a tire to the whole yoga class who were probably like, 'oh, teenage girls,' but he didn't offer to change it for us. So instead, with the jack in hand, I bolt back downstairs, (to my relief Emelia had not been cut up in pieces by some serial killer) and try to figure out how to use the damn thing. I pull the tire out of the trunk and all that jazz but when it came to the jack, neither of us knew what we were doing.
So back upstairs.
Emelia, was walking proof of our struggle with a streak of grease on her face, I noticed, but didn't say anything. Perhaps I'm a bad friend, but it did help our plight like I assumed it would! Tom thought it was quite adorable! HAH!
Tom comes downstairs and helps us change it (kind of reluctantly, but obliging nonetheless) and he teaches us how to do it/did it for us.
THANK YOU TOM. (We are getting him a GC to this vegetarian restaurant that he says he likes.)
I knew to ask for help because my dad was always that guy to stop on the side of the road to help people with their car problems, no matter how late we were. We also stopped because he knew someday we would need help too (and trust me, those days came.) I felt like I was cashing one in that my day had stocked up for me.
So, TAKE THAT LIFE, you tried to throw a curve ball at us and we successfully landed on our feet. Within half an hour the car was rolling and Tom and his wife (who I also thank for her patience) were also on their way home.
I found it quite amusing how I walked out of there feeling like I was on top of the world and then life was like, 'hey you, humble down a bit, try this one on for a challenge' and the both of us did. At first Emelia saw it to be way worse than it was but it turned out to be not that bad. I mean, it could of been worse; after all, we ended up learning something from all this and we can now officially change a tire, I think.