Big O Tires and I have a relationship.
Since we live on a dirt road, we get a lot of nails and screws in our tires. I would say that, between Scott and I, we've been to Big O Tires no less than 12 times since we've lived in Colorado.
The first time my tire warning light came on, I freaked out. That's actually putting it mildly. I called Scott, who was probably at work, and was all HELPMEIDON'TKNOWWHATTODO. While Scott takes care of 98% of our vehicle needs himself, he's stopped doing the tire stuff. It would just take more time and energy than going to professionally get it fixed.
He told me to take it to a tire place. He had to give me the name, the address, and Kristin-friendly directions on how to get there. It was a process.
Now I find myself there every couple of months. The service is great. They bring up my account and I know (I KNOW) they're thinking Oh, her again.
The point of this whole story is that on Monday, I started my car and the tire light came on. Of course it did, right? It was Monday. I just hoped it wouldn't go flat on the way to school and then, after school, drove to Big O and it was dealt with in about half an hour.
I do wonder why they always ask what tire it is. I don't exactly give off the vibe of being able to tell what tire is low, and I'm pretty sure I'm wrong most of the time.
I still haven't fixed the 4-wheeler tire.*
(The 4-wheeler tire is very low on air and Scott ordered me the stuff online to fix it and I haven't yet because I haven't needed the 4-wheeler [yet] and this is why I'm not capable...I will fix it either exactly before I need to use it OR I will have the first person who comes to visit this summer fix it. Whatever comes first.)
*Also, I wrote about this in a blog post and can't find it now and that is 15 minutes of searching through my own blog that I'll never get back.