Well, Saturday, I gained a new-found appreciation for our men in blue. Or black. Or whatever color they wear these days.
Why, you ask?
Because, Saturday, this happened:
On my way to Tuscaloosa, Alabama (my most favorite place in the world **ahem** **sarcasm**), for the NCAA Cross Country South Regional, I was literally five miles from where I needed to be, when this happened to my tire. I had a bad feeling that this was going to happen considering my tire/wheel woes from the past week (but that's a whole 'nother blog post).
Now, flat tires don't really bother me. I mean they are an inconvenience, to say the least, but my dad made me learn how to change a flat tire before I could drive so I know what I'm doing. I've changed a flat before; I've even changed a flat while a good guy friend stood there and watched me because he couldn't do it. (Girl power!) However, I've never had a flat tire on the interstate and well, the whole cars-and-mack-trucks-flying-by-at-exceeding-speeds thing really freaks me out, not to mention I was a little upset that I wasn't going to make it to something work-related because of a busted tire. Plus, I don't have a roadside service.
I called the parents but got no answer at home or on the cell phones so I called the next best thing - my sister and brother-in-law. My sister, being the take-charge person that she is, told me to not worry about it, to tell her where I was (which I was proud to say that I was because I could drive 20-59 South with my eyes closed and know exactly where I was considering the millions of times I've driven that stretch in the past four years), and she and Bubba (my name for the BIL) would call someone. Then, being the brilliant pair that they are, they told me to call the highway patrol.
So, I did.
Within 10 minutes of when I told the nice lady on the phone where I was, HP dude came to save the day. He even brought his own fancy-shmancy jack. In 15 minutes, the busted tire was off, the spare tire was on and I was good to go. He even followed me to a service station because my spare tire was a little low. There I got free air and began my search for a new tire (FYI, don't search for a new tire in Tuscaloosa on a Saturday. No. Help. What. So. Ever.)
Anyhoo, all this to say, my disdain for the Highway Patrol has been decreased significantly.
So the next time you are stuck on the side of the interstate in Alabama, and you don't have roadside service, *HP is the way to go.
Their motto is "Courtesy, Service and Protection since 1935".
I'd say they delivered.