You know you’re a redneck when…
*If you’re looking for a poker post, this isn’t it*
I consider myself a reasonably intelligent man. I have a college education, teaching certification, many graduate credits to my credit, (is that redundant?) and have been a professional educator for 15 years. During my 15-year stint as an educator I have been honored on no less than a dozen occasions with grants and awards for excellence in science education.
In my field I am a success.
I am, nonetheless, a mere one generation off the farm.
Thus began the events of last Saturday when my brother and I decided to tow my son’s car from point “A” (TJ’s girlfriend’s house) to point “B” (G.W. Pierce, a wrecked-car lot). The distance between the two points is about 20 miles on back roads. The car being towed is a very old Toyota Corolla that threw a rod some three months ago. The vehicle doing the towing is a huge-ass F350 pickup truck.
I arrived at Molly’s house and immediately noticed that the car looked odd. On closer inspection and subsequent questioning I found that my loving son, who will soon be heading for college as he graduates from high school in less than two weeks, had sold BOTH FRONT TIRES to one of his buddies!
On the front of the dead car was now two emergency spare tires commonly referred to as “doughnuts,” one of which appeared to be nearly flat. Both doughnuts were held in place by a TOTAL of five lug nuts.
“It’ll be alright. We can tow it with those on.” said the fruit of my loins.
How bad could that affect the handling of the car? Tow it we shall!
We hooked up the tow strap and I climbed behind the wheel, turned the key so the steering wheel would work, and put it in “N” for neutral. Rather I attempted to put it in “N” for neutral. The lever was frozen. It wouldn’t move. It was in “P” and didn’t seem interested at all in moving to “N.”
“What now?”
“That car doesn’t weigh very much. Let’s pull it anyway,” said my brother.
What’s the worst that could happen?
We started down the road.
Investigating the mechanics of what actually occurs when you take a car that is firmly ensconced in “P” for park and compel it to move down the road is something I’ve never actually done, but apparently it’s just like anything else that isn’t supposed to be moving and yet is forcibly persuaded that it will in fact move.
It objects.
It objects very loudly.
The odd thing is that after a mile or so of forced movement, there is one loud and final sound, the sound generally associated with something being broken, and then there is a lot less noise.
Having the sound of the transmission settling down perceptively came at a very opportune time because the sound of the engine was so loud it was drowning out the sound of the right front doughnut beginning to shred. There would be a thunderous banging noise and then I would see a hunk of rubber cast skyward as piece after piece of the tire broke loose and was tossed by the side of the road.
Then the sparks started.
There actually weren’t as many sparks as one would expect from a car being drug on the rim. I have to applaud the inventor of the emergency replacement doughnut spare tire. He (or she as the case may be) did an excellent job of producing a product that would serve well in an emergency to allow you to limp on down the shoulder on the rim while looking for a place of refuge.
They do however lose a tad bit of effectiveness as one exceeds 60 miles per hour.
“Chris, there are a lot a sparks flying. Let me know if this thing catches fire!”
“They NEVER catch fire on COPS!”
You know you’re a redneck when you’re traveling down the road at 60 miles per hour in a parked car on three tires and a rim.
I pause now to ponder my college diploma :-)
I consider myself a reasonably intelligent man. I have a college education, teaching certification, many graduate credits to my credit, (is that redundant?) and have been a professional educator for 15 years. During my 15-year stint as an educator I have been honored on no less than a dozen occasions with grants and awards for excellence in science education.
In my field I am a success.
I am, nonetheless, a mere one generation off the farm.
Thus began the events of last Saturday when my brother and I decided to tow my son’s car from point “A” (TJ’s girlfriend’s house) to point “B” (G.W. Pierce, a wrecked-car lot). The distance between the two points is about 20 miles on back roads. The car being towed is a very old Toyota Corolla that threw a rod some three months ago. The vehicle doing the towing is a huge-ass F350 pickup truck.
I arrived at Molly’s house and immediately noticed that the car looked odd. On closer inspection and subsequent questioning I found that my loving son, who will soon be heading for college as he graduates from high school in less than two weeks, had sold BOTH FRONT TIRES to one of his buddies!
On the front of the dead car was now two emergency spare tires commonly referred to as “doughnuts,” one of which appeared to be nearly flat. Both doughnuts were held in place by a TOTAL of five lug nuts.
“It’ll be alright. We can tow it with those on.” said the fruit of my loins.
How bad could that affect the handling of the car? Tow it we shall!
We hooked up the tow strap and I climbed behind the wheel, turned the key so the steering wheel would work, and put it in “N” for neutral. Rather I attempted to put it in “N” for neutral. The lever was frozen. It wouldn’t move. It was in “P” and didn’t seem interested at all in moving to “N.”
“What now?”
“That car doesn’t weigh very much. Let’s pull it anyway,” said my brother.
What’s the worst that could happen?
We started down the road.
Investigating the mechanics of what actually occurs when you take a car that is firmly ensconced in “P” for park and compel it to move down the road is something I’ve never actually done, but apparently it’s just like anything else that isn’t supposed to be moving and yet is forcibly persuaded that it will in fact move.
It objects.
It objects very loudly.
The odd thing is that after a mile or so of forced movement, there is one loud and final sound, the sound generally associated with something being broken, and then there is a lot less noise.
Having the sound of the transmission settling down perceptively came at a very opportune time because the sound of the engine was so loud it was drowning out the sound of the right front doughnut beginning to shred. There would be a thunderous banging noise and then I would see a hunk of rubber cast skyward as piece after piece of the tire broke loose and was tossed by the side of the road.
Then the sparks started.
There actually weren’t as many sparks as one would expect from a car being drug on the rim. I have to applaud the inventor of the emergency replacement doughnut spare tire. He (or she as the case may be) did an excellent job of producing a product that would serve well in an emergency to allow you to limp on down the shoulder on the rim while looking for a place of refuge.
They do however lose a tad bit of effectiveness as one exceeds 60 miles per hour.
“Chris, there are a lot a sparks flying. Let me know if this thing catches fire!”
“They NEVER catch fire on COPS!”
You know you’re a redneck when you’re traveling down the road at 60 miles per hour in a parked car on three tires and a rim.
I pause now to ponder my college diploma :-)
posted by Mr Reed | 7:51 AM
3 Comments:
I grew up in Indiana, even lived in Noblestucky for a few years (prior to moving out here to Vegas). I can completely relate...
Hilarious!
You make the Iowan in me proud.
hey mr. reed - i'll be in your (red)neck of the woods this coming weekend for the DMB shows :) any chance you're going?
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