Time for a road trip! A work thingy beckoned us down to Pasadena this week, and we thought the drive might be fun. (It was, although possibly because we're still noobs - nodding donkeys, immense wind farms, stunningly bleak landscapes and the biggest dairy farm we have ever seen are probably not as exciting if you've grown up with this shit). And despite having an American made car (wah, waaah - stop criticizing American made cars - they are the best! USA! USA! Blah. You know they're mostly not. Big, wobbly tin cans with inefficient engines and the turning circle of a dead mammoth. As much as I admire the fact that cops here mostly drive the American made Crown Victoria, having actually piloted one myself I am more than slightly concerned that they might be doing any high speed chases. It was like steering a barge) the Ford Edge is a splendid and comfortable little fella. Plus, its a new car, so we've not had to do anything to it yet (I am proud to say that I have helped my dad fix a slipping cam belt, changed a tyre and would regularly check the oil and tyre pressure in my old VW Golf).
So its only fair to expect to have to pump up the types a bit after a whole year of car ownership. No problemo. The little light comes on and we pull in to a service station and look for the little "water & air" station.
Hmm. Its not obvious, but it must exist, right? Right! Although not in the same evolved form as we know it.
First of all it was a tiny little area at the back of the gas station car park. Secondly, it was called the "RV station". Really? So, only RVs require water and pressurized air? M'kay. Thirdly, and this is the biggest issue, and the main reason we drove past it a couple of times before we realized what it was, it is a small metal box with the two tubes poking out. And nothing else. No little screen that measures the tyre pressure and presents you with the information. No little number pad where you select the correct tyre pressure that you want to inflate up to. Just a box, a tube and a nozzle. Oh, and a sign that says "Please see attendant for service". Really?
Yes, really. So, the hubby checks on the suggested tyre pressure in the car's manual, trolls into the gas station and asks the attendant for "service". It would then appear that he turns the machine on. That is all. He was very sweet and informed the hubby that he'd need a manual tyre pressure gauge. Yes, manual. Its like a small metal straw with another metal tube inside it, and when you put it over the tyre valve it thrusts the inner metal tube up and you read the corresponding little number etched into the metal straw. Wow. We appear to have left the 21st century behind somewhere in Pasadena?
 |
http://www.reddit.com/r/reactiongifs/comments/1sh4v5/
mrw_i_think_ive_given_my_wife_a_great_compliment/ |
The hubby sorted the tyres with no trouble at all, although its all a bit hit and miss - pump up the tyre, then check it, then pump it up a bit more, then check it, dealing with the ever-present danger of over-inflating the tyre so it bursts. I repeat my earlier "wow". Initially I was surprised that the country that invented convenience would allow this nonsense. And then I realized that this option is for plebs. The CONVENIENT option is to take your car to the garage as soon as the light comes on and have a coffee while the little man sorts it out for you. Which, if we're being honest, is sort-of what I did - sipped my Starbucks in the passenger seat while hubby tussled with a pressurized hydra in the pissing rain :)
 |
| http://media2.giphy.com/media/12AeaAYzFDHLaw/giphy.gif |
No comments:
Post a Comment