By Hand

Neither my husband’s car nor mine is equipped with spare tires, something I’m told is now normal.

When we got a flat recently, we ended up stranded for the night in Corsicana, TX*, till the tire shop opened in the morning.

I have zero idea how to change a tire and think the world is safer if I don't try.

My husband did once change the tire of a rental car on the Cross-Bronx Expressway, an awful stretch of pavement. Yes, everyone who hears this story wonders why he just didn’t call the rental company. He said when he turned the car in, he told the guy at the rental counter he had changed the tire and the guy just shrugged. Sure hope that tire was on right.

My point is we all seem to be moving away from doing things with our own hands.

It’s not just flat tires. Lots of things aren’t fixable; either they are disposable or you need specialized tools, including, maybe, a diagnostic computer, to even open them.

Children aren’t even taught handwriting in school anymore, which, research shows, may have some broad negative impacts on their abilities to learn.

Weirdly, there are games you can get for your phone where you play at cleaning a house or planting a garden by tapping your screen. It’s not the same.

Patience is required to do things with your own hands, an acceptance that things aren't perfect and won’t come together perfectly, a tolerance for frustration.

And when you are able to fix something, you feel accomplished.

*One thing to recommend in the tiny town of Corsicana: Collins Street Bakery, world-famous for its fruitcakes. The tow truck driver and tire-shop guys, all gruff and heavily tattooed, recommend the cherry refrigerator cookies – hot-pink little confections – and they’re right.

Highway to Hell

Highways freak me out.

I also have no spatial sense.

I am possibly the worst person in the world to write this article, about a major highway construction project in Houston. But I did and I obsessively triple-checked my facts, so I think it turned out OK. :)

The magazine, quite rightly, wanted more than just the standard "Here's the basic facts about the construction," surrounded by lame jokes about how much everyone's commute is going to suck during it.

Their commutes are going to suck during it, don't get me wrong.

But there is a lot more to the subject than that. And I enjoyed the people I talked to: the man who wrote the book on the history of Houston highways, which is actually pretty interesting, the 94-year-old former mayor of the city/neighborhood most directly impacted who can remember when the Houston freeways first went in, the engineers who work on these unbelievably complex plans.

Mental Blocks

My tire-pressure light.

Yesterday, I had a flat tire. Had to get the car towed (no spare) to a tire store, where I was told it’s really time to replace all four tires. What fun.

Here’s the thing:

I didn’t know I had a tire going flat. A guy noticed from across the parking lot. And he had even told my son, a couple days before. My son thought he said front, driver’s side. So, I looked at the front tire on the driver’s side, which wasn’t flat. Done.

I didn’t even think to look at any of the other tires.

It was the rear tire on the driver’s side.

How weird it is that that guy notices things on other people’s cars, while I don’t even notice things on my own?

Honestly, I can’t even keep in mind what model year my car is. I always have to look that up.

I have a mental block against all things car-related.

“Pop the trunk,” says the mechanic and I’m like, “How do I do that again?”

(Yes, they totally see me coming … Gotta say, though, I don’t think I’ve ever been ripped off.)

My husband patiently shows me how to check the pressure in my tires every time that little light (which looks like a butt to me) goes off. The next time it does, I have no idea how to do it.

I think everyone has mental blocks. Maybe your mind shuts off when someone starts talking budgeting. Or you really don’t want to hear it when the repairman starts telling you exactly how they’re going to fix something. (OK, that’s me again.) Or the person from your health insurance starts talking out-of-pocket and deductibles, blah, blah, blah. (Health-insurance companies are obtuse on purpose, though.)

So, what are your mental blocks?

Why Are DMV People So Rude?

My son got his driver’s license this week. (Watch out, world!)

I was once again struck by how rude the people at our DPS (Texan for DMV) are. I am not the only one to wonder why: look here and here and here, for starters.

It’s almost comical. The first woman we encountered, who just had to hand my son a form, was absolutely stone-faced and clearly was trying to speak without moving her mouth, like that would be too much effort. The second, to whom my son handed a certificate from his driving school, barked, “It’s not signed!” And indeed, there was a blank line, marked “Instructor Signature.” “Oh, no, did they forget to sign it?” I asked. “How do I know?!” she said. “Did he have 10 hours of nighttime instruction?!”

My son and I looked at each other. Of course, he hadn’t been at the driving school at night. It isn’t even open at night.

Yes, we both answered.

Turns out I, the parent, was supposed to sign that he had driven at night with me (which he had), something she could have just said, the jerk.

After we caught on and she had had her little thrill, I signed it.

I have been around long enough to realize if everybody in a certain group acts a certain way, they probably have some sort of reason. Like when we arrived in Houston and wondered why everybody drove those big, piggy, gas-guzzling SUVs. (The streets flood.)

And I found this about a fascinating study. Turns out the “petty tyrant” theory we all have is correct. When someone is in a “high power” but “low status” position – like DMV clerk, they have a tendency to use that power to behave like jerks.

Explains a lot, about a lot of people.

Directing Traffic

Image courtesy of Stuart Miles

at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

After Hurricane Ike, my father-in-law suggested that regular people should get out into intersections without working traffic lights and start directing traffic. 

I said that’s the worst idea I’d ever heard.

He thought (thinks?) I was an idiot.

But haven’t you seen people, even those who should know what they’re doing, like the flagmen at construction sites, just suck at it?

Like the kid, who looks 12, in an oversized reflective vest, his hard hat falling over his eyes, his sign swinging around (Is he trying to say something or just fiddling with it?) who might be making some sort of gesture, but it’s unclear and he’s not looking at any of us. Drivers hesitate, stop, inch forward, have no idea what they’re supposed to do.

And you know those police officers who dance and play tunes on their whistles and put on a show, the ones who are covered by the local paper or news station (like this one and this and this)?

Bah, humbug: Just clearly and decisively direct traffic, please.

Actually, police officers are usually better than flagmen, maybe because they are used to having what my husband calls “the voice of command.”

According to people who have been on the other side, directing traffic is no picnic. This police chief says, if you want to see your officers fall over themselves volunteering for any other duty, just mention directing traffic. According to this retired police officer/professor, “It's fun for about three minutes. It's a little like conducting an orchestra, except all of the musicians have lethal instruments and a random number of them will try to kill you.” Directing traffic is one of the most dangerous things police officers do.

So, we might all want to thank our lucky stars, we’re not out there, directing traffic.

Negative Talk

I will always remember the time my daughter’s math teacher told me she was making progress working on my daughter’s habit of “negative self-talk.”

I not only negative self-talk; I negative everybody-talk. You could say I am an equal-opportunity negative talker.

When I don’t like something, when something doesn’t agree with me, it feels very natural to open my mouth and say so. But then I was bemused to see my other child, my son, complain about his homework the year he started high school. It took him longer to complain about it than it did to do it, which, of course, as his mother, I pointed out to him. (Part of my job.)

And I have come to realize that it’s a real bummer to listen to someone’s negative talk about everything.

What you take in from around you does affect how you feel. Just spend a few hours watching “My 600-Pound Life” and gory true-crime shows and Fox News to prove that.

So, in the interests of making the world a happier place for myself and those around me, I’ve decided to break my negative-talk habit.

However, this is how it’s been going:

Me, in car: “Move it, you stupid piece of shit … Oh, damn! I did it again!”

My son points out that I am now doing double negative talk.

This isn’t going to be easy.

Oh! That’s negative talk again, isn’t it?

Crap.